Controlling Desire
by STF28
Summary: Natalie never meant to save the Joker's life. It was an accident, a decision she made and couldn't take back. Determined to return the favor, the King of Gotham forces her into his world of crime and corruption. Now struggling to walk the line between what is right and wrong, Natalie must make choices she never imagined were possible. *Rating Subject to Change*
1. Prologue

{ **Authors Note: Hello all! Super excited to begin writing a piece involving some of these great characters from DC, specifically Suicide Squad, which I do not own just borrow for some fun story making I hope. Reviews and comments are super appreciated! In a moment of honesty, I'm just trying to strengthen my writing skills here. What better way to do that than with Fanfiction?}**

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I wanted to do this; I wanted to see him. This was my choice, my decision. I reminded myself of this fact repeatedly as I walked up the winding marble staircase, headed into uncharted territory. I knew he was up there, waiting for his grand entrance. He lived for the drama.

I cringed listening to the hustle and bustle a few floors below. Halting at the top of the stairs, I peered over the balcony. Politics and money, glitz and glamor, greed and corruption - it was all down there. These men and women, wearing their tight gowns, and pristine tuxedos, mingled and laughed. They drank their fill and gossiped about the less fortunate.

They couldn't feel the sensation, the palpable friction running through the air. These people weren't aware of the imminent chaos, aware that his men shifted through the crowd. I would have never noticed them before everything had happened. Camouflaged to me once, but not any longer, men in suits moved fluidly through the masses with ease. No doubt they had everything planned. They mapped out all the exits, memorized floor plans, the guest list, and so much more. There wasn't much time to stop the raid. I could see it playing out, the horrified faces, hear the screams, and the shattering gunfire. The people downstairs couldn't prevent it, but I could. I could stop this mass murder and hysteria before it began.

Shaking the possible impending reality from my mind, I edged toward the door. My hands trembled when I reached for the handle. Hesitating, I reared back. Years, that's how long it had been since I had seen that face. I couldn't deny my nerves, but I didn't have the luxury of time to steady them. Bowing my head, I took a precious moment to steady my breathing. After all this time, the only thing separating us was just a door. One thin piece of wood kept the two of us apart. Pushing my hair behind my shoulders and smoothing down the front of my dress, I accepted that this was as ready as I would ever be.

Slipping in quietly, I surveyed the space and swept over the more significant, and important details. Ornate bookcases lined the back wall. Before them, couches and chairs semi-circled a large coffee table. The dimmed chandelier provided little lighting, but it permitted the city lights and moon to cascade noticeably through the sole arching windows to the left. There he stood, the focal point of any time, room, or place. The vibrant green hair, red lips, and pale skin were jarring even now.

I leaned against the door, letting it shut with a thud. The noise captured his attention. Wordlessly, without looking, he raised a gun in my direction. The familiar sound of its hammer clicking into place intensified my anxiety.

"It's been a long time," I spoke just above a whisper.

He straightened when he heard my voice. Jerking his head toward me, he stared. Those hollow eyes had been difficult to forget. They followed my every move as I stepped toward him. As the space between the two of us lessened, he lowered the gun gradually to the floor. The expression on his face was unreadable, but that wasn't surprising. He wouldn't show an ounce of emotion until he wanted too. Even then you wouldn't know what he felt.

"I don't think you've ever been speechless." I declared planting myself between the window and him.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." The grin and shining teeth surfaced with his laugh echoing against the stone walls. Clapping his pale hands, joyously, yet mockingly he spoke, "I'm so impressed. It's not everyday people come back from the dead. I truly didn't think you lived through that terrible fall." Running his hands through his trademark hair, he continued, "So, tell me how did you survive, hmm?"

He couldn't know the whole story, so, I parried, "The doctors did mention my heart stopped. Technically, I didn't survive. In fact, I think we could say; I died for you that day."

My answer didn't please him. His eyes narrowed allowing the darkened skin surrounding them to appear all the more sinister, menacing.

Refusing to let his intimidation effect me, I feigned a smile while sizing him up. He had selected black pants and a white blazer with black trimming for the evening. Much to his taste, he wore no shirt underneath. He loved and proudly showed his lean, tattooed physique to the world. Running my hand up his chest, I pulled back the top of his collar. My fingertips traced the multitudes of inked 'ha, ha' tattoos that peppered his body. "You've added more of these since I've been away, haven't you?"

I jumped as he slammed the gun against the wall. My obvious discomfort encouraged him; it broadened the smile that plastered and framed his face. Grabbing hold of my bare shoulders roughly, his strength paired with the cold metal against my skin became a powerful reminder of how in control he could be.

"Ooh. While I would love to reminisce, I have a party to attend. But that's why you're here, isn't it? You've come to my party! Leaning closer, his husky voice deepened with each syllable, "I can only guess what forces brought you here."

Without hesitation, I grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his mouth to mine. After a few moments, I broke the kiss and whispered breathily, "I came here for you." Before he uttered another word, I kissed him again. I was unwilling to break, reluctant to let him pull away. Ultimately an unwarranted concern because his reaction was immediate. Pressing me forcefully against the window, he groaned, wanting more than I would give.

Shoving him abruptly, I sidestepped away and out of his grasp. Maintaining eye contact, I dared him to follow. Stopping next to the table, I waited. This was the only place that it would work.

Striding purposefully, powerfully toward me, he wasted no time. His lips crashed into mine, and we fell to the floor. I was at the forefront of his thoughts now. He wanted this. Wrenching onto the collar of his blazer, I counted down the seconds. The clock was ticking, and he became more lustful with every movement.

I went rigid at the sound of the door opening, and Frost clearing his throat. The King of Gotham growled, pulling his lips from mine annoyed by the interruption. I, however, silently thanked Frost for his unexpected appearance. I needed to catch my breath. The Joker's reception was more welcoming than I could have imagined.

His annoyance transformed instantaneously to a look of maddening happiness. "Look, Frost," Grabbing my chin, he forced my gaze to his loyal right-hand man. "The missus is back from the dead." The laugh erupted into the room once more.

Frost nodded, "They will be ready in 15 minutes." He slid back out the door as quickly as he had arrived.

"I'm not going home with you," I said softly, stroking his face.

The Joker's smile faded. His red lips pressed tightly together, and eyes widened, calculating. He was assessing me, trying to find a motive for my actions. If I weren't careful, he would.

His left hand clamped down over my mouth. The famous tattoed smile on the back covered mine. "No, no, no of course not. You are here for an altogether different reason. You are here for me, yes but specifically," he waved his other hand in the air theatrically, "to stop my party. One might I add that you weren't invited too. That doesn't sound like you, but it does sound like something friends of yours might do. I always thought," his mouth inched closer to mine, "you and I were much better friends." Every word, every syllable dripped with intention.

Gently pulling his hand from my mouth, I attempted to fluff his ego, "You're right. You're always right." Pushing against his chest, I pulled my legs out from underneath him. Shifting so I straddled him, I placed his tattooed hands on my waist. "I'm actually here to make a deal, of sorts."

"You want to make another deal with me?"

"The last one turned out so well, didn't it?"

His head fell forward, shoulders relaxed. "Don't tell me. You want me to end the festivities this evening, hmm? You want me to call off this charade."

I sighed, leaning back. "It's boring. I know. It's too much of an ask. Maybe I should make this more interesting for you. Instead of a deal let's call this, a game, no," I paused, smiling widely. "A bet, let's call it a bet."

"Do go on," His voice deepened.

"If I can make it out of this building, and call the police before your party starts, then you leave with your guns and your men. No hostages. No gunfire. No death."

"Mmhhh, interesting. Now that you've gotten me tingling with all sorts of sensations tell me." He drew me closer, flush with his body. His breath was warm and sweet. Licking his lips, he asked the question I had anticipated, "What do I get if I win?"

"You get me." Wrapping my arms around his neck, I awaited his reply. This was it. I hashed all my bets on this offer.

He moaned, swinging his head back. Locking those blue eyes on the ceiling, he voiced his approval. "That's good. Very good. But allow me to take this a step further." Bringing his attention back, he traced my parted lips slowly and seductively. His eyes gleamed as he bargained, "This time there will be no more rules. No regulations. This time you surrender to me."

I understood what he meant, demanded. There was a clear difference between what I offered and what he wanted. He knew that. For the first time this evening, the gravity of my situation weighed heavy on my heart.

"Say it." He purred.

A lump developed in my throat. Agreeing hesitantly, I nodded. "If you win," I paused, watching his hollow eyes hang on every word, "I will surrender to you. I will choose you." Before he could say one more word, I kissed him hard for what would be the final time this evening. Setting his gun on the ground, he pushed me over, rolling on top of me. Writhing beneath him, I poured myself into the motions. Focusing on his movements, his desires, I let his hands roam down my body.

The Joker stiffened at the sound of metal snapping into metal, and our actions ceased. Biting down on his bottom lip playfully, I embraced the look on his face. Pushing hard against his chest, I rolled out from under him quickly.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." He tugged against the handcuffs, one on his arm the other to the leg of the table. "Is this where your friends come in? Take me away? Send me to Arkham?"

"No," I answered honestly. Standing cautiously, I inched toward the door. "I just needed a head start." This minuscule trap wouldn't last, but it would give me the precious minutes I needed. Without another moment to waste, I ran. I was out the door and down the stairs before I heard splintering wood against a hard floor.


	2. Heroes and Villains

**{Authors Note: Hope everyone enjoys this! Really excited about this story. Let me know your thoughts in a review! Cheers!}**

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"The way you have written and developed this character is good. She feels real, strong but vulnerable. A lot is going on with the plot, but there is some major internal conflict too. I like her, truly," I encouraged.

Anna grinned, thankful for the review and the positive feedback. Glancing around the room, I smiled in appreciation of my friends. For several months now, the four of us met on a regular basis. Our writer's group formed by accident on an obscure message board. After commenting on several of the same pieces, the four of us decided to meet outside of the cyber world. From there, we created a happy, helpful, and collaborative team of critics. Picking apart plot holes, asking questions about style, and addressing form, we discussed every topic.

"Natalie, please tell me you have something this week," Tom begged.

"No. I'm so sorry." I apologized, covering my face with my scarf.

"Is it writer's block?" Anna asked.

"No, it's not. The freelancing has just been very time-consuming. Its eaten up all my time. I swear I've read everything you've emailed, but that's all I've done. I will have something written for the next meeting."

"For the published author of the group you are so lazy," Vic added.

"Okay, I get it. I'm awful." I said, scooting my chair back and throwing my hands up in mock surrender.

"Leave her alone. She will write when she can." Anna defended.

"I will not. Everyone needs to keep it up. Natalie needs to start jotting down all those thoughts instead of making excuses."

"You know, I wish that you would tell me how you really feel, Vic." I teased rising from my chair. "I'm going outside for some fresh air, will you guys watch my bag?" A slew of nods followed in response before all three buried their heads down to review their work.

The bar was too crowded tonight. I needed a break from all the people. Pushing through the groups of men and women shouting at the tv and sloshing their drinks around carelessly, I exited quickly. Stepping outside into the cool air was a welcome release. It was an eerily quiet night in Gotham, but I knew the city held its breath. Not long after our meeting started, news surged through town that the Joker and Batman were at it again. Everyone crammed indoors waiting for word of it to be over. No one wanted to get caught up in that mess.

Moving across the street, I stood on the wooden deck overlooking the open river. The sound of water lapping against the stilts beneath me brought a certain sense of calm and tranquility. Leaning against the railing, I closed my eyes and breathed in that familiar scent of fall that swept through the city. Smiling, I embraced the time to think about nothing, to be alone with my thoughts.

The bright lights of Gotham's Downtown District lit up the sky on the other side of the river. The hundreds and thousands of offices worked together unknowingly in unison. The combined fluorescent hues illuminated the night and projected onto the water. The river refracted it back beautifully as the wind moved the light along its path. I waited, leaning out over the railing once more. That's when I saw it, an object fluctuating up and down in the distance. Squinting, I tried to get a sense of what it might be. My curiosity faded quickly, replaced by shock and fear.

"No," I whispered.

Darting down the wooden stairs to my left, I hovered on the dock, at the edge of the water. Sure of what I saw, I grabbed my phone and dialed 911 without another doubt.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Body, there's a body in the river," I said disbelievingly.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I, I, I..." I stammered, "I don't know. I was outside. I didn't see anything. I didn't hear anything."

"What's your location?"

"Umm," I hesitated, "I'm sorry. I don't know the street. I'm at a bar called Josie's on the south side of the city."

"That's good. Are you with friends? Do you feel safe?"

"Yes, but," I paused, watching the man or woman move slowly but surely down the waterway. "You'll have to be quick because the water, it's moving. It's not moving fast, but it's moving and..."

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Yeah, it's Natalie," I answered, running my fingers through my long, wavy hair in frustration.

"Natalie, you've done a great job. I want you to go inside and wait with your friends. I have police and an ambulance on the way now."

My heart pounded as I hung up. I had done everything I could, right? It wasn't possible for this person to be alive. All the same, I didn't take one single step toward the stairs. What if they were? What if the ambulance arrived too late? By then, this person could float farther down the river.

"This is," I said aloud, "the most ridiculous thing you could do." Unzipping my boots and taking off my socks, I paused contemplating this idea. Shaking my head back and forth, I removed my jacket and dropped my phone next too it.

Diving in, my muscles contracted from the frigid temperature. I glided through the water, swimming with a juxtaposition of determination and uncertainty. The figure, a lifeless man, drifted with the current. With each stroke, his features became more visible. An arm's length away, I halted. The distinct green hair and red lips prevented my swimming any closer. His body was a ghostly white, chemically altered by mistake or design. Drowning with indecision, I turned toward the dock, praying for someone to appear. I needed a sign to tell me what to do, but the city remained silent. There wasn't a sound to be heard or a soul to be seen.

"Fuck," I whispered.

This was it. I was going to do it. What if he was alive? I couldn't be the girl who saved the Joker. Still, I swam closer. I didn't know how to justify my actions, but I also didn't know how to leave him here.

Swimming toward his head, my trembling hands reached for this man, this criminal. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled with as much strength as I could while his head bobbed up and down against my neck. Kicking my feet we inched back toward the dock. It didn't matter that the water kept him hanging on the surface for me. The cold breeze, the freezing water, and the weight of him were too much to bear.

"Please don't wake up." I moved my legs underneath up and down, propelling us forward. The exhausting, repetitive motions took their toll. If I had any adrenaline, it was leaving me now.

Grasping the edge of the dock, I let go of him and lifted myself out of the water. The fall air whipped through my soaked shirt and pants unforgivingly. Shaking, I turned, looking down at him. "If you're alive," I pleaded, "do me a favor and stay unconscious."

Crouching, I leaned out, grabbing hold of those pale arms once more. Yanking on his upper body, I worked relentlessly, groaning from the physical and mental weight of lifting this maniac. It took several attempts of pulling and tugging before I had most of him out. Lying his head and neck down gently, I hurriedly gripped his wet pants and hauled his legs out of the water.

Falling to my knees beside him, I rubbed my hands over my shoulders vigorously trying to warm up. Frustrated and tired, I rocked gently back and forth. I could see my breath and feel that stinging sensation in my nearly frozen hands and feet. I wanted to take solace in the fact it was over, but it wasn't.

Cautiously crawling forward, I hovered over him. Tattoos covered every inch of his muscled physique. Several scripted laughs permanently placed along his chest and arms, cards on his neck, among others made him quite a terrifying canvas. The most noticeable of them, his name, was written across his stomach in large, blocky stylized letters.

Leaning forward, I reached out. I wanted to know, to see if he was alive, search for a pulse, but pulled back as soon as my fingertips brushed his icy skin. Clearly, he had been in the river for some time. Swallowing, I scooted closer, my hair dripping water, falling down onto his bare chest. There weren't any signs of injury, no blood or bruising, not that those would have lessened his terrifying demeanor. Even in this state, the Joker was too intimidating to describe.

"Hmmm," His purr cut through the silence.

Jumping backward, I fell against the wooden steps. Ignoring the pain my arms and back, I watched, paralyzed. A groan of frustration left his mouth as he rose enough to lift his head. He opened his eyes, revealing an unnatural color of blue. They were light, contrasting drastically to the darkened skin around them.

My mouth opened, to say what I wasn't sure. It didn't matter. Interrupted by the sound of blaring sirens, my fight or flight response kicked in. My anxiety and fear reached its breaking point. Snatching my shoes and socks, I clamored up the steps in a frenzy. Leaving my bag and friends behind, I ran because I had just done something completely unforgivable. I had saved the most deranged and dangerous man in Gotham.


	3. Plot Thickens

It didn't take me long to get home, not at the pace I ran. My super had let me in my apartment, no questions asked as to why I was soaking wet. That wasn't that surprising; I suppose because this was Gotham. More often than not, terrible things happened. The less you knew, the better.

I muttered a quick word of thanks before pushing him out the door and locking it. Rushing I grabbed a blanket from my couch and wrapped it around my shoulders. I couldn't stop shivering, partly from the cold but also from fear.

I nestled into the small space between my bed and the wall. Scanning over my studio apartment, I made a note of everything. There were two ways for someone to get inside. My door, to the left, secured by only one lock and bolt. At one point that had seemed like plenty but not anymore. Then my small galley kitchen led to the fire escape.

I rocked back and forth as my eyes shifted amongst these things. I was on high alert. I found my sense of sound debilitating. Every pounding footstep or slamming door echoing through my thin walls made me cringe or shiver because it could be him, could be the Joker.

Reaching into my back pocket, I cried out. My phone was gone. I had left it at the dock, lying there for the Joker to take. Banging my head against the wall, I stifled my screams of frustration. How could I have done this? I had saved the Joker, a murderous psychopath. Beating my hands against the bed furiously, I continued to scream, curse, and cry until I had no energy left to give. My mind and body had hit their limit. The unbearable stress and guilt left one option. Falling hard into unwanted sleep, I hoped to not dream of his cold, blue eyes.

The next few days weren't any more manageable. Cautious and afraid to do much of anything, I remained in my apartment. I only stepped out once for the sole purpose of buying a new phone and getting a new phone number. Other than that, my mornings were filled with anxiety and my night's terror. I convinced myself the man would make an appearance. The only thing that seemed to help was work. I buried myself in it. It was the most productive I had ever been when it came to writing.

Sitting down on my couch, I opened my laptop for the umpteenth time that week. Logging into my e-mail, I reread my responses to Vic, Anna, and Tom. After I hadn't returned to the bar or answered their calls, they had all bombarded me with letters of concern. I didn't want them to know the truth. They couldn't, so the lie flew from my fingers easily. I wrote I had fallen in the river and lost my phone. Instead of own up to it, I went home embarrassed.

Clicking on my new messages, I read over one from Joel, the editor of one of Gotham's more prominent newspapers. The blunt title read, _**Interview at Arkham**_. My heart skipped thinking about taking an assignment there. It was a straightforward offer. A new doctor developed supposed life-changing methods for the patients of Arkham Asylum. The paper wanted to give the piece to me.

"I've already met one psycho, why not a few more?" I mumbled.

Skimming the rest of the information for the details, I reached the bottom. Joel's last sentence was a simple request. Get a quote from the curator of the new installation at Gotham's Museum of Modern Art tonight.

"Shit."

Shutting my laptop, I stood. I had forgotten. I had forgotten agreeing to that, and it was tonight. No, it wasn't tonight, it was practically now. If I hurried; I could be at the museum before sundown and home at a reasonable hour, home before dark. Grabbing a black dress from my closet, I showered quickly. Pinning my long wavy hair up and back, I set to work on my face. I looked tired. The dark circles under my eyes paired with my ivory skin was not a flattering combination. Applying my makeup quickly, I focused what little time I had left being certain all windows and doors were locked.

I had taken the luxury of calling a taxi rather than using the subway. It felt safer than being out in the open. I knew it was illogical to let this fear take over my life. If the Joker had wanted me, he would have come for me by now. Sure, I had debated going to the police several times but stopped myself. There wasn't any pertinent information I could give them. If anything, I would look suspicious. Then there was the issue of who to trust. The city didn't get this dirty from a good, loyal, and just police force. It was a dime a dozen for who you could believe. Only 1 or 2 came to mind from previous interviews that had seemed faithful to the line of duty. Sighing, I leaned against the window of the backseat, taking in the setting sun. The flashes of light between the rows of towering buildings were welcoming. It warmed the air and people walking the streets to and from work and home. The scene provided an odd sensation of hope and cheer. Gotham could be a beautiful place when it wanted to be.

By the time I arrived at the museum, the event had already started. Getting up the stairs and inside, even with a press pass, was hell. Despite the ample space, there was a sea of people to swim through tonight. Docents ushered guests away from the large staircases and toward the main hall. Journalists jotted down notes while speaking to the museum's administration. Then there were Gotham's finest, charitable donors of the exhibits. Overdressed and over jeweled they lingered, demanding attention and publicity.

Already I needed a break from this. The pomp and circumstance were too much. Careful not to step on dresses and toes, I struggled to get through the crowd. A round of applause interrupted my thoughts, followed by laughter and shouting. Facing toward the masses, I caught sight of the excitement, of him. The one and only Bruce Wayne had arrived, Gotham's most eligible bachelor. It was incredible to watch. A man with nothing but money and his name on a skyscraper drew every man and woman to him by breathing. They all pushed in to get a closer look at the infamous billionaire. Even the museum staff craned their necks to get a peek.

Glancing over at the now unattended staircase, I smiled. I still had some time before the speeches started and art shown to the public. Seizing my opportunity while everyone was distracted, I hurried up to the next floor.

Searching for even further solitude, I stepped into the next gallery. The room was long, dull, and white. It wasn't anything special. Quite frankly, I didn't understand the importance of what was hanging on these walls. I had no taste for art. In truth, I had only taken this project because Joel needed the extra help. Well, that and the pay was good.

"Please, don't!" A shrill plea sliced through the stillness.

I hesitated at first, wanting to let it go. It was probably nothing. But the pleading continued followed by the sound of something heavy colliding with the ground. Scurrying to the next room, I halted in the doorway. Red, I saw red before any other color. My hand clamped over my mouth as I stood, trembling. A man laid face down on the ground, unmoving. Blood slid from his stomach eating away at the flawless white floor. Behind this lifeless figure were two women. They clung to each other, faces streaming with tears and mascara.

Uncertain of what to do, I watched helplessly as the scene unfolded. Two masked men circled predatorily around them. One tall and burly held a single large gun pointed toward the ground. The other one, shorter and much thinner was much more aggressive. Holding his dripping, bloody knife out suggestively, he advanced toward them.

This wasn't fair. I had my fair share of stressful situations this week. I didn't need this on my conscience too. Praying to stay unnoticed, I took one small step backward, moving out of sight. With my back leaned against the safety of the wall, I listened to these women whimper and beg for their lives. I had to do something. They would die. These women would die if I didn't get help. I wanted to release the scream building in my lungs but I couldn't. They would grab me, and no one downstairs would know. If I could get back down there though, maybe warn everyone to leave. Closing my eyes, I shook my head back and forth trying to force the anxiety out of my heart and the tears from my eyes. I had to keep my head on straight. There had to be a way to tell everyone with a sign or an alarm.

My eyes opened wide at the thought. The paintings were alarmed, right? I could grab one and alert security. Then I saw it, that beautiful little box. I walked unknowingly past the fire alarm when I came in.

Refusing to remove my sights from the doorway, I moved with my back to the alarm. Edging away, I pleaded, begged, and prayed a hundred times within those few feet of space. Let there be enough time to save them, to stop these men from hurting those people. Turning to grasp the lever, I pulled down hard. I waited for the siren to erupt through the building but it didn't come. Instead, I received deafening silence. Confused I yanked on it, again and again, counting the seconds passing by.

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

That laugh, I knew that laugh. I'd heard about that laugh. Spinning around, I came face to face with the Joker. He hovered a few feet from me, grinning ear to ear. His light blue eyes gleamed and danced with amusement. The harsh museum lights brightened his green hair and highlighted his red lips. I stared, disbelieving while taking in his pale figure. He wasn't much more clothed than when I had pulled him from the river. His gold blazer hung over his completely unbuttoned black shirt. White pants clung to his hips tightly. He was so willing to show off his body. There was no shame or embarrassment about it.

"Natalie." My name fell from his lips, his voice light and sweet.

I felt dizzy. The weight of everything was too much to bear. Dropping to the ground, I started shaking uncontrollably. He knew my name. Why did he have to know my name?

"No. No. No. Don't worry." He purred. "I'll help you get everyone's attention." As soon as the words left his gleaming mouth, several loud bursts of gunfire spilled from the other room. There would be no mistaking what it was downstairs.

"What do you want?" I whispered the question not sure if I wanted him to hear or even answer.

"What do I want? What do I want? What do I want" he repeated my question, each time with a different inflection in his voice. He turned in a circle, his arms spread wide and inviting before finally saying, "Why, I want you."


	4. Crises

**Authors Note: Posted back to back chapters this week friends! I couldn't stop writing. I hope everyone has a fun time reading! I apologize for any grammatical errors - you can only read a chapter, so many times over and over ya know? :)**

Fuck, my head hurt. The relentless throbbing sensation was unbearable. Batting my eyes open, bright light flooded my vision. Confusion set in as I stared at the unfamiliar stark white ceiling above me wondering when I lied down and why the light seemed so jarring. These thoughts muddled together as I watched the ceiling fan spin round and round.

Pushing against the soft and silky cushion beneath me, I gasped. A wave of excruciating pain crashed hard against my body. The sharp, shooting feeling left me breathless. Clenching my teeth, I reached my fingertips to the back of my head. Damp and tender to the touch.

I tried to focus although difficult and impossible at first. I couldn't make sense of anything. Thankfully, the pain receded, becoming a dull, manageable ache, allowing me to take in the room, a bedroom. Swinging my legs over the bed, I observed the simple, bare space. With only white walls and some sleek wooden furniture, there wasn't much to see.

Tugging off my heels, I let my feet rest on the thick, soft carpeting. This was too much too process. Gradually standing, my hands slid to my waist, and my head bowed to my chest.

"Stay calm," I whispered.

Taking another glance around the windowless room, I staggered to the bathroom. Squinting against the fluorescent lighting, I gripped the tall porcelain sink for support. A mirror reflected my fatigued expression. My hair had fallen; the pins no longer willing to hold my tresses. Pushing a strand from my face, I paused, struck by the sight of dark red blood covering my fingertips. Realization folded in immediately. The museum, the Joker, and the shattering sound of gunfire flooded my memory. Leaning against the sink, my shoulders slumped under the weight of the evening. Those women from the museum were probably dead along with many others too. Switching on the tap, I let the comforting warm water glide across my hands before washing off the blood. The clear water and red liquid swirled together down the drain along with my sense of well being. Had the Joker hit me? No, that didn't make sense. I didn't remember that, but someone had, and they hadn't held back.

"You want me," I whispered, recalling those sickening words fall from his mouth.

I turned off the sink and wandered back into the room. Stepping toward the only other door available, I placed my ear against the smooth wood. Convinced I'd hear his laugh or some sound, I waited. But there was only silence. Grasping the handle, I opened the door carefully.

A few couches and chairs laid to my right. The furniture piled and pushed so close together made space for more important things. On the opposing wall, a dozen large black and bulky cases had been stacked in rows on top of one another. Hanging next to the boxes, racks of clothing lined back to back. In the center of the room, next to large windows, several computers sat on the floor. To the left of all these random things, a small set of stairs led to another door. Presumably the exit, but curiosity overwhelmed my need for self-preservation. I gravitated to the cases first. They weren't locked, a simple latch and they opened.

Fixated by its contents, I searched through the other cases. Bundles of one hundred dollar bills, filled and stuffed each one. Shutting the lids, I sidestepped to the racks of clothing. Rows of the Joker's shirts, pants, and other items hung with care and attention. Organized underneath each outfit were shoes, a pair for each ensemble. My hands drifted through the silk and cotton materials, each of them more expensive in brand and design than I could afford. It made sense to me, his unorganized form of chaotic organization. He wanted every item he owned out in the open. It was all thrown together but not at the cost of his insane necessity to plan. This man had everything at his disposal, money, clothes, technology, and information. He had power, and he kept it all together so he could see it.

Glancing at the floor, my attention shifted to the six computers resting there. Every single one of them was on, providing meaningless information to me. Some were blueprints, others obscure websites, one was nothing but code. The final was an email. Bending down to get a closer look, I read the familiar text from this evening. It was my e-mail, saying exactly where I would be. He knew I was going to be at the museum. He'd been watching.

I had tarried too long. I needed to get out of here. My curiosity and hesitation were gone. Turning to the door behind me, I placed one determined foot after another until my palms were resting against the door. Cautious, I stood on tips of my toes to look through the peephole. Only one man stood outside. Leaned against the wall, he stared at me unknowingly. Why didn't he come in? What was he waiting for?

"Not allowed to touch or look at the Joker's property."

The unsettling thought nearly brought me to my knees. Until now, it hadn't registered what was transpiring. Anger swelled inside me. I couldn't and wouldn't let this happen. I didn't belong to him. For whatever reason, the Joker hadn't arrived. That meant I lived on borrowed time until he returned, and I wasn't going to waste it.

"Think, Natalie. You can do this, think." I demanded of myself.

Hurrying back over to the clothes, I moved piece after piece over. I came to terms with my idea. I wouldn't make it in what I wore. It would need to be barefoot, not like I hadn't done that already this week. The dress needed to go. It hugged my thighs tightly. There wouldn't be any way to run in this material. Grabbing a white button down and black pants, I ducked behind the large black cases. Unzipping and removing my dress, I yanked on his clothes. They were too big, but it didn't matter. Stuffing the shirt inside the pants, I whipped the pins from my hair. Pulling up the pant legs, I pinned them into place. Undoubtedly this makeshift tailoring wouldn't last long. I didn't need it too though. If I could make it to the street, out in the open, none of this would matter.

Looking myself up and down, I smiled for the first time that week. Stealing from the Joker, this was ridiculous. If he caught me, he would torture or kill me, most likely both.

Mentally shaking the possible impending action from my mind, I braced myself. Taking a deep breath in, I released the loudest, longest, and most ear-shattering scream. It had been building within me for days, and the action was therapeutic. My intuition told me that I couldn't be alone in this building. Surely there were others somewhere, and I was meant to be quiet. If that wasn't the case, then I could only hope the man waiting outside was an idiot.

On cue, the door burst open. The man, tall and thin, rushed toward the bedroom. Without missing a beat, I moved from my hiding place, stepping with care toward freedom. The hallway wasn't long. I ran to my right refusing to look behind. There wasn't much time. Everything was a blur as I bolted toward my goal. Straight ahead of me the elevator, my escape beckoned. It was cruel for it to be so out in the open. If that man came out, I couldn't hide anywhere. Pushing the button repeatedly, I waited for the doors to open.

"Please, please, please," I begged, looking behind me.

"Come on, open. Open." Obeying my command, the doors slid aside allowing me its safety. Rushing in, I hit the button for the first floor. Leaning against the cold metal railing, the doors inched together. Trembling, I wrapped my arms around myself. Thumbing the soft material, I found unexplainable comfort and warmth in his clothing.

Halting abruptly, the elevator arrived at its destination. Taking a step forward, I sighed. I had done it.

I wasn't mentally prepared for what happened next. It felt like a sick joke only and ironically the Joker planned. As the doors opened, the exit, the street, and the lights of the city welcomed me, but I didn't budge. He stood in the middle of the lobby, blocking my escape to the outside world. The promise of making it out alive broke. Time slowed down before me. Speaking to another man, I watched the Joker's body tense. Something was wrong. Whatever his associate said, it made the Joker unhappy, and I was about to make it so much worse.

It was like he could sense my fear. Craning his neck, his penetrating gaze fell on me. The two of us stood still. His eyes wandered up and down my rigid body, up and down his own personal wardrobe. A dark expression and a furrowed brow painted his face. I knew I had surprised him. Clearly, that didn't happen often, and I was the unfortunate person who had done so.

"Sorry." My voice cracked, "wrong floor."


	5. Foreshadowing

**Authors Note: Hello everyone! I wanted to thank you for the favorites, follows reviews, and critiques. They are extremely helpful, and I'm very thankful to receive them. I hope you all enjoy and as always let me know what you think!**

He never took his eyes away from mine; he never even blinked. Cocking his head to the side, the Joker fixated on me. When the doors finally moved together, his expression transformed. Striding confidently forward, I watched that infamous and menacing smile make its debut. He stopped shy of the door; those wide, penetrating eyes full of mischief and danger. He could have prevented my escape. All he had to do was take one step closer, hold out his hand and stop the doors from shutting. But he didn't. He continued to stare, asserting himself and feeding off my terror. It gave him energy and life.

The elevator sheltered me in its confines once more. My horrified expression reflected against the shining metal. The spell of fear had broken. Snapping into action, I hit the button for the garage. My borrowed time was up. This was it. The Joker was in complete control. He wanted me to run, and I was going to disappoint.

Out and sprinting at full speed, I hurried up and past the empty grey and winding garage. Dashing past the columns, I refused to look back; I focused on the neon exit ahead, hoping I didn't hear the ding of an elevator door opening or even worse, gunfire.

My imagination ran rampant as I made my way to the street, and head-on into traffic. Driver's screeching brakes and blasting horns from their rage met my ears. Stumbling through the unforgiving mess I caused, I propelled my body forward. The dirty, rough pavement of Gotham covered my feet and the bottom of the Joker's pants in grime and filth. I didn't care though. I didn't care about the pain of rocks and small pieces of glass embedding themselves into my feet. I refused to stop. It wasn't an option. I couldn't afford too. So I flew past the odd looks of well-dressed men and women. I weaved in and out of crowds. Dashing in front of cars, and through the back alleys of buildings, I strived in making my path unfollowable. Taking streets to the left and others to the right, I became dizzy in all my movements.

But even after I slowed to a walk, I didn't feel safe. That feeling of someone watching never subsided the entire way home. And that journey took every bit of an hour. I had no money and lost yet another phone. By the time I arrived, my lungs burned, and legs ached. Trudging up the stairs, I used the last ounce of strength to pound on the super's door.

"Keys," I demanded, as soon as he appeared.

It took only a single glance for him to decide a fight was not worth the effort. It was late, and I looked like hell.

My apartment seemed untouched. Everything was still as I left it. It felt like days since I had last been here. Wincing with each step to my bathroom, I whipped off the Joker's clothes. Showering, I let the hot water fall against me, burning my skin before scrubbing myself raw of the evening. Hurriedly disinfecting the cuts on my feet, I bandaged them before putting on tights, a shirt, and an oversized sweater. I had to leave the apartment and go to the police. I couldn't put that off anymore.

Picking up his clothes, I ran my hands along the soft material as I padded over to the trash can. Letting his pants and shirt fall from my fingertips, I stared at the pile of clothing, wondering if he would come to collect it. Sighing, I reached in, grabbing them once more, only to see something fall loosely from the pocket of his pants. Frowning, I snatched it, pulling out a dark purple bow tie. Dropping the rest of his clothes, I wrapped the small piece of fabric around my hand.

"I hope you won't miss this."

A buzzing interrupted my thoughts. Placing my hand over my heard, I turned in circles; I searched for the unexpected noise. Then I saw it, my phone lying on the bed. The screen lit from Joel calling nonstop. Frozen initially, I didn't move. I was sure I had taken it with me to the museum yet here it was.

Picking it up, I answered warily, "Hello?"

"Natalie!" Joel's welcoming voice exclaimed. "I've been calling you all night. Are you alright?"

Sighing, I sat down on the edge of my bed. I leaned forward and put my head in my hand.

"Natalie?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I confirmed. "Why?"

"It's all over the news. We've been getting incoming calls and reports all night. The Joker showed up at the museum. You were there, right?"

"Oh, Joel," I searched for the words, knowing lies were going to fumble out. I had to protect him. "I never made it there. I was running late, and I didn't want to call and fess up to it." I didn't need to fake the distress. Thinking about it brought the emotion out easily.

"Natalie, thank God. Truly, I'm glad you were late. I'm glad you didn't get there. It was a nightmare."

"I'm sure it was. Just the thought of being there during all of that." The white lies continued.

"Didn't take long for Batman to show, I'll say that much. Must have caught a whiff of that maniac."

"Listen, Joel. About that Arkham story," I started but was quickly cut off.

"Natalie that's going to be a great piece. I'm sure it seems intimidating right now, but I don't want tonight to shake you up over that. Think it over. Besides everyone here is too scared to touch it, considering the number of breakouts." Joel laughed.

"Right." The conversation was numbing. I would have agreed to anything to get him off the phone. Making my excuses, I hung up letting the phone clatter to the floor.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." The croaking laughter filled my apartment.

Raising my head to the sound, I prayed for him to be my imagination. I'd sooner be going crazy than him be here, but he was. Standing against my couch proudly, his tattooed hands crossed over the handle of a purple cane. This was the one moment I was in awe of him. So statuesque in the way he held himself, he was every bit the gangster, and unforgiving crime lord people feared.

Scooting back onto my bed, I said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"Natalie," Tossing the cane on the bed beside me, he approached. His voice deep almost sultry, "I do wonder how you got so good at lying, hmm?"

Edging even farther away from him, he advanced. Placing his hands on my bed, he crawled, growling and snarling. He had become an animal, and I was his prey. Shuffling back even further, my head thudded against the headboard. I had nowhere to run this time not that I had the energy anymore.

"What do you want from me?" The fear in my quivering voice was evident.

Halting he reached toward my hand, tugging at his purple bow tie. The fabric unfurled, sliding from my hand to his, "From you? No, no. I don't want anything from you." Toying with the tie in his hands, he grinned, "I wanted you so I could give you something."

"You don't need to give me anything," I whispered.

Feigning surprise, his blue eyes bore into mine. "Oh, but I absolutely do. You see," grasping my neck he pulled me closer, "you saved my life."

Pushing my hair back his cold hands looped the tie around my neck. The space between the two of us, while non-existent, allowed me the opportunity to study him. His thin face and lack of eyebrows made him hauntingly skeletal. The colorless skin only enhanced the feature tenfold.

"What do you want to give me?" I didn't want to know, but I asked. Making conversation with him, entertaining him felt like a smart decision.

"An opportunity." He answered, completing his work, he smiled. His parted lips allowed me a glimpse of his teeth. The silver plating, had he done that out of necessity? Had someone busted his teeth beyond repair?

"What kind of opportunity?"

"An opportunity at Arkham. An opportunity to be remembered for a lifetime."

"I don't deserve your generosity." Breaking from his steely gaze, I looked down. It was impossible to think when he looked at me like this.

"Natalie," Pulling my chin up, he ran his fingers over my lips, "you deserve so much more, and I'm going to give it to you."

His words took my breath away. It felt like a mixture of things, a threat, and promise-filled with hidden meanings. Before I could stammer out another question or thought, he was off my bed with the cane in hand. He timed his exit to complete perfection. The door swung wide open for him as soon as he reached it. The man from the lobby stood aside, letting the Joker exit, while he hovered in my apartment.

"He'll be in touch. No police." It came out of his mouth so matter of fact. Setting a phone on the arm of my couch pointedly, he left.

I was alone. My shattered nerves combined with horror and shock were too much. Stumbling to my bathroom, I collapsed over the toilet and vomited violently. Why was all of this happening? Wiping my mouth, I moved to the sink, splashing cold water over my face repeatedly. I could see the writing on the proverbial wall. If I didn't stop all of this before it began, I was going to turn into a person I didn't recognize. Then again I didn't recognize me now. Looking at my reflection, a girl with shining green eyes, fair skin and a stupid bow tie stared back. If you painted my lips red, you could call me a fucking clown.


	6. Building Character

**Authors Note: Hey all! Thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews. It's incredibly helpful and encouraging. I hope you enjoy!**

Sleep became a foreign concept the rest of the night. My thoughts consumed me. I couldn't fathom why the Joker wanted me. What reason could that maniac have or need for me to write the assignment on Arkham? The phone left by his associate didn't provide any insight.

With question after question piling up, I didn't delay in searching for answers. Grabbing my laptop, I leaned against the wall next to my bed. He wouldn't return tonight. I knew that, but it didn't keep me from glancing at my door every few seconds. I was no longer safe or secure in my home. His momentary presence permeated and infected every surface. Focusing on the task before me, I hit one key after another, typing his name slowly into the search bar. Murder, larceny, manslaughter - these crimes and more filled page after page of results. Scrolling through one story after another, I committed his criminal activities to memory.

 ** _Joker Tortures and Mutilates Unsuspecting Gotham Citizen_**

Some news reports titled him a psychopath, others a sociopath. I had never given the psyche of Gotham's infamous criminal a second thought. Now, here I sat, rummaging through anything on the Internet with his name attached.

 ** _Jail Break at Arkham: The Joker Escapes Again!_**

Biting my lip, I clicked through picture after picture of him. Those eyes, those intelligent yet lifeless eyes stared right back. He didn't seem real, none of this did. The articles described his abilities and personality as a megalomaniacal anarchist with a genius level intellect. If this was true, then what chance did I have of surviving? No clear motives for his behavior, not even money or revenge were ever determined.

Trembling, I stood. None of this helped. The only puzzle I had solved was the name of his mysterious associate, Frost. The research, albeit thorough, did nothing, provided nothing past that. The odds of living through this were slim if not nonexistent. I paced back and forth thinking about my choices. Run, fight, or comply - oversimplified as it might be, those were the options.

The pro and con list grew with the negatives outweighing in every category. Imagining my death or the few people I cared for was heart-wrenching. Unfortunately, it was the most blatant and obvious outcome.

Shuffling from one side of my apartment to the other, I concentrated on nothing else. I didn't pay attention to the moon sliding downward and the sun rising in its place. I didn't listen to the sounds growing on the street outside. There was only me until the thundering knocks on my door broke my solitude. I didn't hesitate in opening it. Logic told me if it was the Joker or his man, Frost, they would enter without invitation. However, the sight of a man and woman in blue uniforms stopped my current worries and created new ones. My eyes widened, taking in the stoic police officers.

"Natalie Voce?" The blunt, straight-forward manner in which the woman spoke was off-putting. They knew something.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"We have some questions for you about the event at Gotham's Museum of Modern Art yesterday evening. Will you come down to the station?"

My mouth was dry. I knew I didn't have to go but the word, comply kept repeating nonstop in my head. I'm sure the Joker wanted my silence, but if I didn't go, then I would seem suspicious.

Nodding, I listened absentmindedly to the appointment time before shutting the door. I fell immediately into a state of numbness. Shuffling to my bathroom, I grabbed a pill with drowsy effects and popped it into my mouth. Sleep, the ultimate avoidance of my problems, enticed me. Lying on the couch, I set the alarm before curling up in a ball. They expected me at the station in a few hours, conveniently the amount of time I slept.

I awoke groggily and begrudgingly. The Joker was my first, second, and third waking thought. It brought me to that familiar intersection of nervousness and exhaustion. I didn't waste time trying to look presentable. Dark circles under my eyes, sore feet, a massive headache, there wasn't a problem I didn't have.

Trudging to the subway, I paid no attention to my surroundings. Sitting in an old plastic seat, I counted the screeching stops until mine arrived. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious about speaking to the police. I wasn't sure how they had found me, cameras at the museum? Did they know about the 911 call too?

"Natalie Voce, here for questioning."

The short, plump officer behind the desk studied me. Looking down through a pair of small glasses, he smiled wryly. The man blinked several times before gesturing at the chairs in the waiting area.

A burst of energy pulsated through my body when he called my name. It was a much-needed breath of fresh air to see him. He had aged over the last few years, the stress of policing Gotham. That silly thick mustache and oversized glasses were an almost joyous sight.

"Ms. Voce, I'm Jim Gordon. Please, follow me."

Noting the shifting gaze of the man who signed me in, I trailed Gordon. While his focus remained set on the thin folder in his wrinkled hands, he led the two of us to an interrogation room. Gesturing toward the seat on the opposite side of the small windowless space, I sat in a cold metal chair.

"Can I get you something to drink, Ms. Voce?"

I smiled at his friendly nature. I wanted to cry, thankful for the small sprig of luck. "I'm fine, thank you."

Bringing his gray eyes to mine, he folded his hands in his lap. "Ms. Voce, I need to ask you a few questions about what happened last night at the museum. I assume that you are aware?"

Crossing my arms over my chest, I watched him before motioning behind his back. He turned to look at the small camera hovering in the corner of the doorway.

Returning his attention to me, he smiled knowingly. "No worries. We're alone here."

"You don't remember me," I stated

"Have we met before?"

"Twice," I paused, words were becoming difficult, "you helped me with the orphanage."

The flash of recollection gleamed from across the wooden table. "Natalie," He stopped, leaning over to reread the file. Folding his hands in his lap, he proceeded, "Your last name wasn't Voce when we met."

"No, I changed it after that whole story ended. Didn't want the name the courts gave me." Rubbing my eyes, I continued, "I never thanked you for all your help. The conditions there weren't exactly what they should have been."

"You did all the writing. It was your voice that mattered. It was you that got everyone's attention. I just provided some men to get the job done."

"Gordon," a lump developed in my throat, "are we truly alone?" I asked, returning to the subject.

His brow furrowed, "Natalie, you can trust me."

Looking down at my palms, I addressed the issue again, "I know I can trust you." The extreme emphasis I placed on the statement didn't go unnoticed.

"As I said, it is you and me here. No one else. Now, can you tell me what happened last night?" Gordon responded firmly without hesitation.

"Jim," I started, cool tears slid down my cheeks. "Jim, I made a mistake, and I think I'm about to pay for it."

The explanation poured from me like running water. Gordon patiently listened to everything I had to say. The honesty was catharsis in its purest form. All the same, I sobbed through my guilt. Explaining my reasonings, if not excuses for saving a villain felt nonsensical.

Gordon waited until I finished recounting the events. Sliding his hands across the table, he grabbed mine gently, "Natalie, I'm going to get you out of this. I will help you."

We didn't speak much after my confession. He assured me my secret would stay between the two of us. In return, I promised to contact him with any further information. Gordon escorted me out of the building personally. He apologized profusely and loudly for every officer to hear. His acting was superb, making it crystal clear this interview was a waste of time.

"I'll be in touch soon. Stay safe." He whispered, shaking my hand.

I didn't know if anyone believed Gordon's act, but it brought me the sense of hope I needed desperately. His determination and encouraging words strengthened my resolve. For every second of doubt, there was now a moment of faith in equal measure.

I traveled home quickly, rejuvenated by the meeting. Opening my apartment door, optimism stirred within me. Compared to the last twenty-four hours, this all felt easy. Stepping across the threshold, the familiar buzzing of a phone met my ears. I knew which phone it was. The timing of it all was far from coincidental. Approaching it cautiously, I read the flashing message.

 _ **Come Out And Play**_

With four simple words, dread replaced hope and fear dashed my faith. Pummeling down from cloud nine, I fell hard into a harsh reality.


	7. Tension

**Author's Note: Woah, just couldn't stop writing on this one. Thanks for the support everyone! I hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing!**

After the first message, I received one more from a different number.

 _ **Smile and Grin - Tonight**_

I assumed the Joker sent the first. It possessed his style and flair. This particular one, presumably from Frost. I didn't know what Smile and Grin meant. A quick search revealed it was a strip club. A glorified strip club with the rumored owner being none other than the Joker. Not surprising, considering the name of the establishment.

I thumbed through my wardrobe. I didn't frequent that side of town, and I'd never gone to a strip club. What did I wear? Did he expect me to wear something specific? The fact I needed to consider his personal preferences only brought my mood further down. Stressed, exhausted, and sleep deprived - a horrible mix of all three plastered my face. He had done this to me, but I wasn't going to let him know that.

Marching to my bathroom, I utilized every minute at my disposal. I showered before cleaning and re-bandaging my feet. Applying my makeup precisely and carefully, I hid every sign of fatigue. I contoured my face and colored my pale cheeks. The girl reflected in the mirror when I finished wasn't the real me, not now anyway. Pulled together and confident, a complete ruse. Deciding on tights and a white button down shirt, I picked a pair of leather boots and a leather jacket. A dress would be more fitting for the occasion, and less noticeable than my casual outfit. I didn't care though. If I was going to end up knocked out and dragged elsewhere, I wanted it to happen in pants.

Stuffing one phone in each jacket pocket, I smiled at the ridiculousness of it all. I considered calling Gordon. He would want to know, but I thought better of it. Whether it was some form of intuition or fear of the Joker, I stopped myself from dialing the station. Instead, I called another cab. The driver's momentary distress and hesitance told me all I needed to know about the location. As if I required another reason to pick up and run for my life.

Settling into the seat for the journey, I saw the skyline of Gotham. I'd paid the price for living on the outskirts of the city, a quiet and safe-ish neighborhood. I appreciated living on my own, away from the hustle and bustle. The transition came quickly. The calm streets turned to a trafficked stretch of highway. Passing through the downtown area, I glimpsed the populated avenues and boulevards. People, tiny specs that they were from this distance, walking, biking, and driving. It was funny, seeing these men, women, and children; families go about their daily lives. Choosing to pretend or ignore the number of problems Gotham had within its city limits. That luxury never existed for me. It hadn't before the Joker and it wouldn't after if there was one.

Returning my attention to the road, I observed the driver navigate the rows of cars. Every exit we sped past became an opportunity to back out, the last ditch effort to escape. Bobbing my knee up and down, I rubbed my palms up and down my legs, watching the number of cars lessen.

I looked down for the rest of the ride, my anticipation and anxiety level high. Even when the car veered right and off onto the exit ramp, I didn't budge. The neon lights of several clubs penetrated the car windows not long after. My hands reflected the pale shades of pinks and blues. The booming music and sounds of laughter intensified my desire to return home.

When the car stopped, I hesitated. Grin and Smile seemed more prominent and luminescent than the other clubs. White lights beamed from its sign and projecting into the night sky. It was the focal point of the street. Paying my fee, I stepped out of the cab embracing the painfully loud beats to the best of my ability. Many people waited to get inside the club. Did they know who owned it? Did they care?

Ignoring the glares of women in skin-tight dresses and high heels, I strode to the door. Two stereotypical large men blocked the entrance.

"Natalie Voce," I projected over the music.

Standing aside immediately, one gestured for me to enter while the other led me inside the place. They had expected me. Rolling my eyes at the shouts of disapproval from the people waiting in line, I followed. If they knew the Joker awaited my arrival, they might be more apt to keep their mouths shut.

With the bouncer parting the crowds of people inside, I scanned the area. It was beautiful, loud but beautiful. The building design, color, lighting, and furniture tied together seamlessly. It created a sensual and intimate ambiance. Half a dozen glass cases had taken up the main floor. Wired behind each case were small, round light bulbs, illuminating the figures of dancers. They performed their routines while men and women looked upon them hungrily. White cushioned and rounded booths encompassed the dance floor. Clear beads, hung from the ceiling and draped each booth. They shimmered against the dimmed lighting from above. These mock walls didn't hide the groups talking, drinking, or attacking each other. Still, the glittering charade provided a shroud of privacy.

Moving across the speckled marble floor, I followed my leader blindly. It took some effort to stay focused, to ignore the roars of the crowd urging women to strip, and couples gyrating in their drunken state.

Stepping aside, the bouncer ushered me up a small staircase. It led to a large booth that faced most of the club. Nearly every angle could be seen, and the Joker sat in the far corner, watching them all. He bared no smile, only an expressionless face that studied everyone and everything.

Frost sat, perched on the edge of his seat, next to where I stood. The dedicated henchmen nudged me forward, nodding toward the Joker. Shuffling inside the space, I idled, waiting for him to greet or address me.

Turning away from the lively atmosphere, he deigned to look my way. Elated by my sudden appearance, the Joker grinned wildly, "Natalie."

Refusing to say his name in return, I remained still. Not acknowledging him or speaking his name felt like a silent form of rebellion. One in which, I relished.

He rose to his feet slowly, holding his shoulders back, displaying and flaunting his physique. He held out his palm slowly, beckoning me to take his hand. I wavered at first, confused by the interaction. Unsure of how to handle the situation, I glanced at Frost. Again, he nodded toward the Joker. There was no choice here. Accepting his hand, the Joker drew me slowly around the table that separated us. Even with my boots on, he stood at least a foot taller than me. My eye line came to his chest and the many gold chains dangling against his bare skin. I almost smiled at his outfit choice, a replica of what I'd stolen the other evening.

"See something you like?" His hands flew to the base of my neck, forcing my gaze upward.

Blushing from the underlying meaning, I couldn't deny my embarrassment. Words refused to form for me, but the Joker didn't seem to have that problem.

Running his hands up and in my hair, he continued, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

My eyes widened. I realized then that someone informed the Joker of my activities today. He texted, and I came. Foolishly, I hadn't reported this to Gordon. That was a mistake. Because I didn't think things through, a madman's hands wrapped around my skull. I had no protection. If he desired it, he could squeeze the life right out of me.

"What's wrong, Nat? Can my little writer, my little wordsmith not think of a lie to tell?"

"J," Frost's toneless voice interrupted.

The Joker shifted toward Frost. Thankful for the reprieve, I breathed a sigh of relief. J, as Frost called him, had his attention set on a man to Frost's left. Average height, average build, the stranger hovered at the entrance, awaiting permission to enter.

"Mr. J," the man nodded respectfully. Frost gestured for him to take a seat. Unbuttoning his blazer, the man sat down, relaxed. He didn't appear unnerved. Cool, calm, and collected, he wore an expensive suit and held himself too confidently. He overestimated himself and underestimated the situation. His eyes roamed up and down my body before asking, "Is this your girl?"

"Oh no," the Joker's low voice answered excitedly. Grabbing my arm, he jerked me forward to stand in front of him. He whipped the jacket off my shoulders and tossed it to the floor. "This," his fingertips glided down my arms, "is my savior, my guardian angel." Resting his hands on my hips firmly, he explained. "She plucked me from the freezing waters of Gotham and breathed life back into me."

It took every ounce of restraint to remain still. The Joker's hard body pressed into mine. There was no verbal communication shared between the two of us. Still, I could feel him daring me to move. For whatever reason, aspiring to bring me to a level of discomfort that I would break. I made no effort to pay attention to the conversation, or the weasel ogling me across the table. Attempting to concentrate was impossible. His strong tattooed hands around my waist were enough to keep my thoughts occupied. Still, I wondered, is that what I was to him, his girl? The idea sickened me.

"My employer understands you're interested in some of the merchandise. You might need some cheap labor from the orphanage, as it were."

At the mention of the orphanage, my attention automatically restored itself.

Loosening his tie, the man continued, "Most of these kids need," his eyes wandered, "some assistance. Bruce Wayne's donations aren't enough to keep them fed when they leave the system. We will provide a place to live, and in return, they will carry the drugs. We would like to humbly, ask if you if you would take part. We're prepared to offer a generous twenty-five percent."

I'd set my focus on the floor, pretending not to listen. Clenching my fists, I gathered my broken thoughts. This bastard planned everything. The Joker had taken my phone from the docks and used it to dissect my life. Discovered my name, read my emails, investigated my past - there wasn't one word of my history unread. Now, this monster employed a form of emotional manipulation. Was it punishment or fun for him? Pressing my lips together, I kept unforgiving words from spilling out of my mouth. I had to do something, say something smart and tactful. What did he want from me? Racking my brain for a solution, my mind latched onto his poignant and pertinent words.

 _ **What's wrong, Nat? Can my little writer, my little wordsmith not think of a lie to tell?**_

Nat, you need to tell a lie. Spinning around, I ran my hands up the Joker's muscled arms. His eyes darted from his guest to me. "I thought I could get away from you, but I can't. So, I want to offer a deal that is better than his because he is a waste of your valuable time."

Purring, the Joker swayed back and forth, "There you are, Natalie. I wondered where you had gone."

Disregarding the meaning of his sly words, I confessed. "I told the police everything, even about Arkham. I'm sure you know where I was today."

Tilting his head down to meet mine, he smirked, waiting for me to continue. I had piqued his interest with my honesty.

Eyeing the guns hanging in his holsters, I added, "and I'm going to keep telling them everything. That is, I'll tell them everything that you want them to know."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Throwing his head backward, he cackled.

It was unnerving to witness a man unhinged. Stealing another glance at the opposite side of the room, I saw Frost smile knowingly. While the other man, Mr. Cool and Collected, squirmed in his seat. My outburst cost him the illusion or delusion of control.

When his laughter subsided, he exclaimed, "I do love your creativity! Do explain though," running his hands through his green hair, "why I need you?" Running his tongue over his parted lips, he craved an answer or something else.

"Everyone knows about the dirty cops in this city, but why would they suspect someone like me? An innocent orphaned girl." Making my final play, I pulled a phone out of my pocket. Scrolling until I found Joel's contact, I hit the call button.

Tilting his head to the side, the Joker followed my movements, intrigued by my sudden bravery and determination.

"Joel," I spoke confidently as soon as he answered. "I can't talk long. I wanted to say I would love the opportunity to write the story on Arkham." Holding my ground against the Joker's unblinking stare, I listened to Joel ramble.

"Sorry, it's loud here. Send an e-mail with the date and other details."

Hanging up, the smile I anticipated from the Joker didn't appear. Instead, I received a glazed expression. "Certain deals, Natalie," He paused, analyzing my face, letting his words linger in the air. The speed at which he grabbed his gun and fired it stunned me. The deafening sound didn't faze anyone in the club except me. Clasping my hand over my mouth, I fought the urge to scream and the tears of anger and frustration.

Laughing once more, he sat down, lounging restfully. "Certain deals are bad for business." Grabbing my arm, he pulled me roughly down beside him. "Tell me, what would you get from our arrangement?"

Unable to control how much I trembled, I attempted to turn my head. I knew the man behind me was dead.

"I wouldn't do that," Cupping my face with one hand, he used the other to wag his finger back and forth like I was a naughty child. "Can't have an innocent" he enunciated every syllable mockingly, "girl like you see what the inside of a man's head looks like. Tell J, what do you get, hmm?"

Descriptions didn't do this man justice. He exuded power and mastered control in every scenario."To be your friend," I answered softly.

Leaning his head back against the cushion lazily, he moaned. My answer pleased him in a way that me uneasy. Bolting upright, the Joker's red mouth inched toward mine. Flashing an enigmatic grin, my new friend breathily whispered, "Nat-a-lie, you and I are going to have such fun playing together."


	8. Inciting Incidents

**Author's Note: Big gap since my last update. This chapter refused to cooperate for a while. Happy reading!**

Trudging up the stairs, I was the epitome of dazed and confused. Leaving the club, calling the cab, driving back, I didn't remember any of it. The whole evening merged into one horrific blur.

Dragging my feet, I approached the door to my apartment weary of the days to come. My head pounded with thoughts of the Joker. I feared his smile and laugh were there to take up permanent residence. Entering my apartment, I leaned against the door as it shut. The wooden frame supported and prevented my knees from buckling. Hanging my head, I reached toward the light switch.

"Leave them off," a loud, gravelly voice thundered through the darkness. The unexpected command wrecked my last nerve.

My keys clattered against the floor. Clutching the doorknob, I turned toward the voice. The moonlight outlined the pointed ears and general towering, intimidating stature well enough. The infamous hero of Gotham, Batman, hovered at the window.

"Wh-What do you want?"

"You're being watched."

"By the Joker," I confirmed knowingly. Before this encounter, I never understood why Gotham's most corrupt feared a man in a suit. It all made sense now.

"What does he want?" It was a question, but he demanded an answer.

"How do you know about this? About him? About me?" A shred of confidence flew from my lips. Still, my hand remained glued to the door handle, ready to bolt. The man behind the mask supposedly embodied vigilante justice. I wondered if that sense of justice extended to the Joker's accomplices, even resentful ones.

"We have a friend in common."

"A friend?" Scoffing at the idea before the name came to me. "Gordon," My epiphany confirmed by his silence brought forth more confidence. "I need to talk to him. I need to talk to him now."

Ignoring my request, the Bat asked again, "What does the Joker want with you at Arkham?"

"I will only talk to Jim Gordon." My response, final and firm, hung in the air, thick with stubborn determination. If Jim Gordon considered him a friend, then Batman must be trustworthy. Perhaps if the Bat met the other me, the real me, the one who wasn't emotionally and physically drained, I'd be more agreeable. Instead, he received the one terrorized by the Joker. The one who had heard a man's head blown to pieces hours ago. The one who spent the better of those hours envisioning brain and blood splattered white couches.

Although shrouded in darkness, I observed Batman's movements. Reaching into the folds of his cape, he tossed something toward me. As the object skidded across the floor, he calmed my instinctual hesitance, "Keep it with you. Press it."

Crouching to the floor, I grabbed the small round device between my feet. The indentation on the front fit my thumb perfectly. Tracing its defined smooth curves, I pondered aloud, "Press it when?"

"When you need me."

By the time my attention returned to the window, Batman had disappeared. My sole visitor now, the fall breeze, drifted through the apartment.

Bewildered I crossed over to the couch, dropping Batman's calling card on the coffee table. Yanking off my shoes, I plopped down against the worn cushions. Shedding my jacket, I pulled out both phones. They weighed heavily on my hands, on my heart. Then again, they weren't phones anymore; they symbolized my life splitting. Two lives, one of my choosing and one that belonged to a green haired, nihilistic bastard.

Losing myself for the umpteenth time in thought, I considered my options. Somehow within the last week, my life turned into a game of chess. The Joker eliminated all moves. I couldn't label him as a single piece. He transformed into anything he saw fit at the moment. The sad fact of this game, I didn't know my own role. Was I pawn hoping to go unnoticed and survive? Then again, the king seemed a fair representation. Watching the Joker dismantle my life, leaving me always and forever in check. Regardless of which, both the pawn and king shared an unfortunate feature. They could only move one space. One move each turn, that's all I had to work with for now.

The familiar concoction of exhaustion, frustration, and fear induced a welcoming drowsy effect. Closing my eyes, I accepted sleep, praying for it to be dreamless.

Waking to a tickling sensation, I begrudgingly batted my eyes open. Text after text appeared from Vic.

Meeting tonight at 8.

Better. Have. Something.

If you don't, I'll kick you out of the group.

Before I could type my response, Ana's reply popped up.

She will not. Won't let her. :)

Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I blinked several times. The suns rays, unforgiving this morning, shined through the windows. Almost noon, I'd slept all night and part of the day. No messages or calls from Gordon, a grumbling stomach, and a crick in my neck - that's what I had to show for last night.

Staring at my phone, I counted the reasons I shouldn't go tonight. They piled on top of one another with the Joker's beaming smile remaining the chart-topper.

Can't wait.

Biting my lip, I hovered over the blue send arrow. I wanted to go, but I thought better of it. I'd only put Anna, Vic, and Tom in danger.

Sorry everyone, can't make it tonight. Working on a big project. Don't worry, Vic. I will email everyone the short story I've been working on before group tonight. Be there next week. Sware.

Of course, I hadn't written a short story. Another lie to keep up pretenses and maintain a semblance of a life.

Accepting my decision, I went through the motions of preparing myself a full meal for the first time in days. I took a shower and changed into tights and a long sleeve shirt before settling in with my laptop. A blinking cursor on a blank document taunted me for some time. Leaning my head back, I stared at the ceiling, rapping my fingers against the keyboard.

No news from Joel on the Arkham story yet. No messages from Frost or the Joker either. Regardless, the Joker's presence wormed its way in, I could feel him. His snaking arms slid down my body, grinning maniacally. I gritted my teeth, remembering the feel of his body against mine. Unable to shake the gripping paranoia of being watched, I swept my eyes across the apartment. No one here aside from me.

"I hate you." I spat, clenching my fists. Vocalizing my hatred felt incredible, a cathartic release.

But typing the words felt even better. Once I started this cleansing action, I couldn't stop. A story unfolded effortlessly. They say to write what you know. Unfortunately, I knew a tale of a man entangling a woman in murderous and sadistic schemes. Timeframes, dates, location - I changed it all. His looks didn't stay either, but I allowed the iconic smile to remain.

After emailing the story to the group, I slammed my laptop shut. The anger from writing every letter, every word, every sentence pulsated through me. Writing about the Joker temporarily halted that debilitating sense of powerlessness. Sharing this dirty secret strengthened my resolve to get out of this mess.

Hearing that familiar buzz, I glanced down at my phone. An unknown caller rang through twice before I answered. Hitting the green icon, I brought it to my ear, "This is Natalie Voce."

"Natalie," Gordon's gruff yet kind voice soothed my anger.

"Gordon!" I exclaimed, "I need to see you."

"Natalie, you need to tell me what happened last night."

Surprised by his demand, I held back. What had Batman told him? "Gordon, I can't tell you about last night. I need something from you, first."

"What do you need?"

"What does it take to get immunity?"

"Natalie..." Gordon trailed off.

"Gordon, if you want more information on Arkham, get me this." For the first time this evening, thoughts of the orphanage plagued my mind. The Joker hadn't accepted that business deal, but someone would. What chance would those kids have? "If you want more than the Joker," I kept it brief, "you will get me what I need. There's a chance I won't make it out of this alive. If I do, I need a life to come back too."

"Natalie, it doesn't work like that. Give me some time. I can't.."

I cut him off. "I can't go into detail now. Without some sort of guarantee, I'm not sure there will be a way," I stopped. Strained and thick with emotion, I pushed through. "I'm not sure there will be a way to come back from the things he will make me do."

His reply came quickly, "Meet me tomorrow afternoon at the same station."

"Are you inviting any friends this time?"

"There will be no friends there, Natalie."

Understanding the meaning behind his words, I thanked him before ending the call. Reaching for the other phone, I grappled with what to say. Keeping an open line of communication with the Joker seemed ridiculous. But if someone informed him about my visit tomorrow before I did, what would he do?

Sighing, I wrote a message to Frost. I couldn't bring myself to send one to the Joker directly.

Meeting the police tomorrow morning.

Sending it, I slammed the phone on the coffee table. There, I took my turn. I made my move. Now, the Joker knew. If I appeared to be loyal, true to my word, then he would believe me. If I reported everything, then I would avoid suspicion. At least, I hoped as much.

Rising off the couch, I refused to sit and wait for a response. Padding over to the balcony, I wondered how time slipped away from me today. Writing and editing one short story followed by a single phone call allowed the sun to lower. A full moon replaced it.

There hadn't been many opportunities for an uninterrupted, rested sleep the last few days. I would take them where I could get them. Moving to my bed, I fell into the plush bedding. My fingertips glided across the downy, fuzzy blankets. I sought solace in the smell of fresh, clean sheets. While my ordinary life crumbled, these small comforts meant the world. Curling into a ball, I smiled genuinely, nuzzling into my haven. Just one second of normalcy, that's all I desired.

A sweet melodious tapping of rain against the window panes met my ears. Groggy from the interruption, I grumbled against the pillow. Determined to stay asleep, I settled into the cozy bundle of blankets I'd created through the night. A pleasant but thick sweet, cool fragrance wafted through the air.

Stretching, I moaned. An unfamiliar warmth and fabric met my fingertips. Confused, I gripped the material, my hand grazing across soft skin. Jolting up, wide-eyed, I froze. Red lips formed into an enthusiastic smile on the pillow beside me. Desperate to create space between the two of us, I sprang back. Seizing my wrists quickly, the Joker pulled me close. My cries of frustration did nothing, he pinned me underneath him with ease.

Breathing heavily, I looked into the dancing blue eyes above me. "It's nice to see you so soon," I muttered.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Shaking his head back and forth, his slicked back hair falling against the motion, "I understand you have a message for me."

"The police called me in for a second interview." I lied. My cheeks reddened the more I squirmed underneath him.

Releasing one of my hands, his pale fingers brushed lightly against my lips. "You have many suitors. I'm curious, who is your favorite?"

Swallowing hard, I pleaded, begged for the unexpected visit to end. In no mood for games, I tried to stay on the topic at hand, "What would you like me to tell them?"

His eyes darted between my eyes and mouth. Drawing back, he sat, straddling me, "Why, the truth of course." Releasing my other hand, he jerked me forward. For a moment, I faced his chest. A tattoo, the image of a skeletal jester, peeked from behind his maroon shirt, "You surely haven't forgotten already. You do remember what the truth is?"

His hot breath on my skin paired with the firm grip muddled my thoughts.

"Hmm?" Prompting an answer, he raised my head to meet his mock quizzical expression. Winding his hands around my neck, he applied gentle pressure, running his thumbs up and down my throat. His patience only extended so far.

Wary of my situation, I told my truth, "You've coerced me into taking the Arkham story. If I don't go, you'll probably kill me."

His body relaxed. Resting his forehead against mine, his said smoothly, "Well, if that's the truth, Natalie..." Enjoying the control, he tarried. A fleeting and leering glance flashed across his face before he let go and rose off my bed, walking to the door.

I hopped up after him quickly, "What do you want me to do at Arkham?" Admittedly the words came out much harsher than expected. Almost commanding, willing this unstable man to give a straightforward answer.

Surprised by my outburst, he halted. Pushing back his green flyaways with both hands, he straightened. Turning on his heel, he swung around. The insanity manifested in his movements. Swinging his head around in a languid circle, he clicked his tongue against his teeth. A rumbling growl followed. I maintained eye contact as he advanced toward me steadily, "You know what I want, Natalie." Grabbing the sides of my head, he whispered in my ear. "I want you," pulling back, he grinned, "to write your story."

"That's all?" I whispered, disbelieving of my simple mission.

"Mhmm, since you've asked," pulling my hand up, he slapped cards face down in my palm. "For two friends at Arkham."

"What friends?"

Spinning back toward the door, he didn't stop to answer my question this time. As it happened before, Frost opened the door from the outside, allowing the Joker to leave. When it clicked shut, I flipped the two cards over. Two dancing jokers grinned wildly at me.


	9. Dialogue

**Author's Note: Hello all. Thank you for your kind words, thoughts follows, and favorites. It makes me feel amazing. I wanted to let everyone know I will be doing a massive update to all current chapters. In all honesty, I read through, and I found a ton of things that need some fixing. I'm sure I will still miss many things, but it will make me feel better. So, I apologize if you get a thousand e-mail notifications. I know that's annoying.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know your thoughts below :)**

"I will not let you do this." Gordon didn't attempt to mask his frustration. His usual kind face had hardened during our conversation, agitated by my resolve to do the unexpected.

"What alternative is there? Running? How are you going to protect me? The Joker knows where I live. Is your friend, the Batman willing to keep me safe because I'm not willing to go into hiding for the rest of my life."

Gordon meant well; anyone could see that. That's why I bolted to the police station at first light to find him. Unable to wait for our scheduled meeting, I burst into the police station, demanding to speak to Jim Gordon. The combination of many sleepless nights and my jittery demeanor from an entire pot of coffee caught attention. Thankfully, Jim escorted me into the privacy of his small office quickly.

"Natalie, this is your life. This isn't a game."

I frowned, "It is a game, though. The Joker's made sure of that."

"What do you think you can accomplish here?" Attempting to prove his point further, he threw open his desk drawer. Tossing a mound of thick, overflowing files on top, he pointed at the pile, eyeing my reaction. "This is every known account the Joker is responsible for in Gotham. If you need any more reason to not go to Arkham, I suggest you glance through it. Go ahead; I won't stop you."

After the Joker's impromptu visit last night, I stayed up, imagining how this conversation with Gordon would play out. Judging by Gordon's pained expression, it was going as well as can be expected.

"Tell me what's happened since the last time we met. Because the girl I saw a few days ago was too terrified and full of regret to do anything like this. "

Leaning back in my chair, I shook my head back and forth. "I can't tell you unless I have some guarantee."

"Natalie, the type of guarantee you're looking is hard to come by. It would take considerable effort to convince our District Attorney that's a deal worth making. The Joker's track record of escaping Arkham won't be in your favor."

Ordinarily, if a person ranted about my inability to make a sound decision, I would have stormed out of the room, or held my own. But I bit my tongue. Because as I watched Gordon list the multitude of reasons I should drop the story, I recognized the signs of someone who cared deeply about my life.

"Gordon, this isn't just about him," I confessed softly. Leaning against the desk, I thumbed the edge of the file. "I think someone is going to reintroduce drugs to the orphanage. I don't see that I have a choice here. Even if I did, I don't think I can walk away knowing that information."

His voice remained firm and unwilling to budge on the issue, "You're too close to the situation to make the right call."

Determined to make him understand, I conceded and recounted the night at the club, leaving nothing to chance. I ran through the events, describing the man who tried to make a deal with the Joker. Gordon even jotted down details as I spoke. But when I got to the end of the story, his mouth formed into a thin line, "He shot him, Gordon. He shot him in front of me. I've witnessed a fucking murder. And I don't think it will be the only crime I'm witness too."

"You won't be witness to anything else, Natalie. I'm not going to let you go. You're not equipped to deal with this."

Raising up, I nodded in agreeance. "I know you're right. I also know I won't let the conditions of the orphanage return to what they were. I worked to the brink of exhaustion to get the living conditions publicized. So, I'm doing this. Maybe I'll find out who's behind it. Regardless I will be going to Arkham, just like he wants." As I spoke and rambled on about my life, my conviction grew, and Gordon's waned.

Swiveling in his chair, Gordon stared out the sole window. He pulled off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose, "You're not a police officer. You're not a detective. What you are is stubborn, and it's going to get you killed."

Skipping past his comment, I tried bringing the point home, "What do you think the Joker's planning?"

Refusing to look at me, Gordon gestured at the stack of papers. "If any of that is an indication of what that maniac wants, then there is no telling what might happen."

Seizing the opportunity, I let my train of thought be known, "Well, what do you think happens if you prevent me from going to Arkham? I think he will find me, he will kill me, and then another person will go in my place. At least, with me, you know. Isn't that better than nothing?"

Gordon opened his mouth to say something but instead produced a long, and tired sigh. Facing me, I watched his brow furrow, and eyes droop, "Go home. You won't be alone when you're at Arkham. I promise you that much."

Rising out of his chair, he motioned toward the door. Our conversation was over. I would say I won, but I knew this wasn't a victory. Grabbing my arm, he issued the warning, "Natalie, you know it was no coincidence what happened the other night, don't you?

Confused but too tired to question, I nodded in response and left quickly. Keeping my head down, I exited the station. There was still plenty of light left in the day, so I walked, mulling over Gordon's words. Yes, the Joker arranged that meeting on purpose. Sure, I admitted the idea had been a form of torture, flaunting my past like dirty laundry. But I hadn't considered it a ploy. Did the Joker expect the knowledge to be my motivation? I shuddered at the thought. If that were true, the Joker orchestrated events far past what I could see. How much of my life was he in control of now?

Ambling through the streets, I weighed the possibilities. All in all, I suppose it didn't matter. I had officially crossed off the possibility of running. The flight response wasn't an option. Honestly it probably never was an option.

Shoving my hands in my coat pockets, I focused on my thudding footsteps against the concrete sidewalk. I buried the bottom of my face in the collar, breathing against the fabric. Strolling through the streets of Gotham, I pretended to be an everyday boring citizen. Unfortunately, I arrived at my apartment, longing for that sense of a normal monotonous life to continue. Instead, the ding of an e-mail floating into my inbox brought me back to my hellish reality.

 **Arkham Interview**

 **Natalie, your interview is with Dr. Jeremiah Crane. Before you ask, yes, he is related to the infamous Jonathan Crane. (Don't address this unless he openly discusses it). This assignment is a simple dive into his new method of "curing" the criminally insane at Arkham.**

 **Security has been informed of your visit. Take two forms of ID with you when you go. They will issue you a visitor's badge, and Dr. Crane will meet you at the Visitor's Center. He's given us half an hour of his time.**

The remainder of Joel's e-mail contained one or two questions he would like me to address. He even listed directions to Arkham Island before giving thanks again on my willingness to take the piece.

Dropping my coat on the floor, I shuffled over to the dresser rereading the details of the e-mail carefully. Grabbing a notebook, I scribbled down the things Joel wanted as well as a few questions to ask the good doctor myself. My evening now required dedicated research into the background of Dr. Jeremiah Crane.

Crawling onto my bed, I reached for the two cards resting on my bedside table. The two Jokers danced and laughed gleefully. Did the Joker consider Dr. Crane, a friend? Flipping them over, I studied the front and back in search of a meaning. I hadn't told Gordon about these, about assuming the role of the Joker's messenger. I reasoned it didn't matter because tomorrow, I would find out who these belonged too. Tomorrow, I would go to Arkham Asylum.


	10. Conundrum

**Authors Note: Hello all. Long time no see. I want to apologize to anyone who was waiting for this, or thought I had given up on this story. In all honesty, I've been busy...and suffered from severe writers block. So, this chapter will probably be a little rough. But I need to post it, and move on to the next which I am very excited for. As always thank you for the follows, favorites, and feedback. It's greatly appreciated.**

—

"This can't be it." My mouth dropped open. It paired well with my wide-eyed stare. I openly gawked at the building and its dilapidated state. Nothing like I expected, Arkham towered, loomed over me.

"What did you think it was gonna look like?" Peering over my shoulder, I glanced at the cab driver. His smirk and tone said all it needed to say.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out enough crumpled money for my journey along with a large tip. Finding someone to take me as close to the front gate hadn't been difficult per se, but harder than I anticipated. "Thanks, have a nice day."

He took the money but continued to fixate on me rather than his fare. "You sure this is the place you wanna be? Some real crazies in there."

"Yah," Persing my lips, I nodded. "This is where I want to be."

"Can't be too careful with that Joker character comin in and out."

"Oh, he's not..." Realizing the truth that was about to escape my lips, I stopped. Edging away from the cab, I saluted him. "Thank you for the ride."

Swiveling around, my boots met crunching gravel. I shuffled toward the small shed blocking the infamous, and rusting iron gate.

"Get in. Get the interview, and then get out, Natalie." I presented my identification to the security camera. It hovered noticeably in the upper left-hand corner of the doorway. Buzzed inside much too easily, I entered a small fluorescently lit room where only two security guards sat at the ready. The taller, and more homely of the two started the check-in process. After rummaging through my satchel, he waved a security wand up and down my body three or four times. When he was satisfied, they took a photo and issued a temporary visitor badge.

He explained the details in a rush while I signed my name in a thick visitors log. My time here was limited and monitored. I'd be escorted out as quickly as I had entered the facility. Shortly after the brief explanation, the other guard, shorter, and gaunt led me out the back.

If I wasn't familiar with Arkham, I don't think the structure would have conveyed the feelings of dread and fear, the undeniable need to look over your shoulder. But knowing Arkham housed the dangerous and psychotically deranged criminals of Gotham affected my impression of the Victorian constructed mansion more than I thought it might. The backdrop of pointed towers and busted railings on the wide-wrapping porch and balcony didn't help the fact. Aside from the desperate need for a power wash, and the replacement of a broken window pane or two, Arkham had potential. It could have been something more than just a terrifying asylum on an isolated island.

But wasting time trying to imagine an alternate reality wasn't why I was here. I was here because a red-lipped, psychopathic clown demanded it.

Hopping up the stone steps, I followed the guard through the front door, blocked by another two men, and a metal detector. The lax nature of security warranted a deeper dive into the asylum alone. No wonder the Joker had become notorious for escaping this place.

"I'm going to take you to Dr. Crane's office. Once your interview is over, we'll come and collect you. Then you will be escorted off the premises." His had a flat voice and seemed disinterested in his own words.

"Collect me? Am I about to become a patient?" Chuckling to myself, I glanced at the guard, his thin face bearing a stoic expression.

Opening my mouth to say something, anything to break the awkward silence, a shrill, piercing cry interrupted my efforts. It echoed through the winding, yellowed tiled halls. The screeching didn't end. It continued, each time growing in pitch, volume, and passion. I couldn't make out many words although I swore, stop, was one of them.

"Move!" The taut, gruff command came from behind. Backing up against the wall, two men in scrubs dashed past us, scrambling for the stairway at the end of the hall.

Covering my ears, I tried to block out the deafeningly painful noise. Waning off slowly, the shrieking subsided to a wail before ending all too abruptly.

Chills ran through me. Placing my hand over my heart, I worked to steady my breathing, the palpable sorrow and fear filling every inch of Arkham's aging surface.

"This way. The doctor is expecting you."

The guard continued on as if nothing unusual happened. Clamping my mouth shut, I forced my legs to follow him down the winding corridor, noticing now, the overwhelming scent of disinfectant.

We marched in silence toward the back of the building. The guard didn't explain much. I gathered that the offices of doctors on staff were placed in a wing of the asylum far from where the patient's slept, ate, and for those who were allowed too, socialized.

When we finally reached our destination, he banged his fist against the door before taking a moment to nod at me.

Reaching out to shake his hand, and thank him for his assistance, I pulled back dumbfounded by the sight of his nameplate. Vocent, his last name, stared at me, glared at me. The first four letters gleamed against the flickering overhead lighting. The last two letters had faded or scrubbed with something so viciously that they were barely visible. The only legible letters left, Voce, was my chosen last name.

I would like to say I hesitated, or altogether ignored the realization unfolding before me. Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a card, and placed it into his palm. His stoic expression transformed slowly, a knowing toothless grin creeping onto his face.

I flinched when the door flew open, and Dr. Crane's controlled voice interrupted the interaction. "Miss Voce, I'm Dr. Crane. Please come in." His thin, cold fingers encompassed the hand I didn't offer, shaking it vigorously. Gesturing for me to enter with an awkward flourish, he pulled me inside his office. I honestly didn't listen to a rambling word that came out of him. When he shut the door, the gentle thud and click of it set in place. It sounded deafening. After all, I just delivered one of the Joker's messages, and I didn't even know what would happen. My mind left Arkham at that moment. I wondered where Gordon was, what he had decided to do. He hadn't told me his plan. All the better really. I told myself he was somewhere nearby, watching out for me, ready to step in at any moment.

"Ms. Voce?"

Turning to face the good doctor, the look of curiosity mixed with confusion crossed his pale face. Peering over the edge of his circular glasses, he waited for me to say something.

"Sorry," shaking my head, "Can we start again? I think," pointing back at the direction from which I came, I searched for the right words, a word, or even a lie.

"Ahh yes, I understand." Whipping off his glasses, he wiped them off with the bottom of his lab coat. Sitting down at the cushioned leather chair at his desk he explained, "I see you also, like so many, are affected by Arkham's reputation."

Planting myself in a chair across from him and his overly sized desk, I nodded. Providing a weak, unbelieving smile, I glanced around the room. Even though the size of his windowless office was considerable, his bookshelves utilized all wall space available. Thick file folders and several models of the human skull littered his desk. Rather than cozy, it felt cramped and claustrophobic.

"It's only natural to feel uneasy." I heard him say, "I'm sure tales of ghost stories, of Arkham being haunted don't help one feel comfortable."

Snapping to attention, I sized up Dr. Crane. The man before me leaned back in his chair. It creaked under his weight. His square face and short cropped dark hair gave him the appearance of anyone else you would walk past on the street.

Opening my bag, I fumbled around for a pen and my small pocket notebook. Pulling out my phone, I set it to record the conversation, before I dared reply.

"Haunted you say, by past patients, or current?"

Chuckling at the question, he leaned forward clasping his hands over the desk. "That's very good. Very clever. I take it you have read some criticisms of my methods."

"No, I did not."

"Seems a bit unorthodox, some might even say unprepared to not have done any research before an interview?"

"I disagree." Keeping my answers short, concise, I watched him as he spoke. He never looked at me when he responded, hardly maintained eye contact when I asked a question. Still, I felt like I was being studied like I was underneath a microscope, or on an operating table.

"Why would you suggest your methods can be compared to ghost stories?"

Reeling back, his beady black eyes gleamed. "Oh, I would never compare the two, but others have done as much."

"Why would people compare them? One is a treatment, the other is fictionalized horror."

Sighing, he once again whipped off his glasses, wiping them before answering. "Exactly, Ms. Voce. Ludicrous in every sense of the word."

"So, in your own words then, Dr. Crane, will you please describe your treatment?"

"I'm going to simplify this as much as possible. Electroconvulsive therapy, psychoanalysis, and frequency." Pointing at me with an unblinking stare, his voice deepened. "That's the golden ticket to get these sick patients much healthier."

"...And when you say electroconvulsive therapy you mean?"

"The more commonly known name for it is shock therapy, but I don't prefer to use it. The term has some poor connotations. The method is still used today. It's regulated, and not nearly as unsafe, and hurtful as some would choose to believe.

"If that's true, then why are some critical?"

"I prefer to do my psychoanalysis during the procedure."

Shifting in my chair, I swallowed hard. "Meaning what exactly?"

"Simple." He threw his hands in the air. "I like to see how my patients are feeling throughout the treatment. I encourage them to speak freely, truthfully, and they do! Understand how their mind is working, handling this course of medicine."

"But surely some patients don't make it through without passing out on the table."

"It does make for some very long days." He stated the fact in a nonchalant manner.

"And the strength of the shock?"

"Is regulated of course. You can't go with a high voltage. That would be a danger to the mind, but admittedly some do need higher levels, more frequent sessions than others.

Processing what Dr. Crane said, I pretended to jot down notes, phrases, things he was saying, but I could only manage to think of one thing, one man.

"You do claim much success with this, so let me throw out an example. Someone say like," my heart fluttered, "the Joker? What kind of treatment would he receive?"

"How I would love to help him." He boasted his excitement undeniably. "He would most definitely, beyond any shadow of a doubt in Gotham, benefit from this."

"Any specifics to share?" My unwavering voice finally cracked.

Smiling, the crows feet surrounding his eyes emerged, "Confidential, of course. You understand."

My heart raced, my hands went cold as I dared to imagine the possibility of the Joker strapped to the table.

"Of course," glancing down at my notebook, I noticed the stark white space mocking me. "And, once more, Dr. Crane, would you clarify why people would think this a haunted place after these sessions?"

"Well, you must understand how exhausting these methods are on our patients. They don't really have much to say afterward. It does make for quite a silent workplace."

A gentle rapping came against Dr. Crane's door, allowing me the break I sorely needed.

"Yes, please come in."

A petite woman, with dark hair, pulled into a tight bun rushed into the room.

"Pardon the interruption, Dr. Crane. You're needed upstairs, immediately." Putting extreme emphasis on the last word, the woman hovered in the doorway, hand on the doorknob.

"Perfect timing," I interjected. "It would be great to get a quote from one of your coworkers. I can wait here for you."

"I'm afraid, Ms. Voce, that we will need to cut this short. Please feel free to get a quote from my staff member, and e-mail me the remainder of your questions. Please see Ms. Voce out for me." Standing abruptly, Dr. Crane exited the room with a brief handshake, and nothing more.

"I'm so sorry. I should have asked if you ever wanted to give a quote first." Standing to face the young nurse fully, I froze. Her nametag, Natalie, read much more blunt and to the point than her counterpart.

"You have a message for me." Hand on her hip, she tilted her head to the side, gazing at me with bright blue eyes.

Handing her the other Joker wordlessly, she snatched it out of my hand. "Oh good!" She exclaimed. I wasn't sure what the plan was, better get a move on."

It all happened at once, much faster than I could have ever reacted too. The booming noise, the overbearing, unbearable noise reverberated through the thick concrete walls, shaking the room and the whole structure of the building. I fell to my knees, covering my ears for the second time. Books tumbled from the shelves, and his models clattered to the floor busting open. The plastic parts of the human brain scattered around me.

Placing my palms on the ground to steady myself, I waited, trying to compose myself. But I didn't have time. The screaming began again, much louder than before. It wasn't just one this time. I heard many voices, followed by popping. Repetitive popping like fireworks exploding somewhere nearby in Gotham.

"No," I whispered. Lying my forehead on the carpet, I beat my hand against it, screaming into the fibers. Clenching my fists, I glared at the nurse. "What did you do?"

"Me?" She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at herself. "Mr. J ordered the bomb, but you detonated it, Nat-a-lie."


	11. Suspense

**Wowza! It's been forever and a day. But I was tired of experiencing writers block and missing this story. So, I decided I couldn't wait any longer and wrote back to back chapters this week. I hope everyone who reads enjoys it. Let me know your thoughts. Thank you for all the kinds words and support.**

Rising to my feet, I straightened, standing tall and firm. The accusation brought tears to my eyes. Anger swelled inside me but I spoke in a hushed, controlled voice. "I would never do anything like this, like him."

"Oh please," Twirling her hair absentmindedly with one hand, she waved her other at me nonchalantly. "It's just us gals here. No need for lies. You're just trying to impress the boss. I get it."

While thrown by her innocent tone of voice, the insinuation I would ever want to impress the Joker in such a way only made me tenser. Before I could defend myself any further, the hospital sirens reverberated through the building. Covering my ears against the jarring, ear-shattering tones, I watched my newfound companion snap into action.

Dashing out the door, she left me alone for a moment before popping her head inside, gesturing for me to follow.

Shaking my head furiously at her offer, I shouted over the neverending blaring sounds whirling through the halls. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Come on!" Unable to control herself, she bounced up and down on her feet, pointing doing the hall. "We gotta go!"

Clamping my mouth shut, I shook my head once more, unwilling to take one solitary step toward her.

Witnessing my stubborn determination to stand my ground, she rolled her eyes. "Listen," pulling a syringe from her scrub pocket, she advanced toward me. "I have one job here, and I'm not about to tell Mr. J I lost his new.." Cut short by a rocketing blast, much loser than the last, the structure of the building responded. Dust trickled through the now broken and busted ceiling tiles.

"Move!" She shouted. Yanking on my arm, she pulled me out of the room, throwing me into the hallway as bookcases toppled, spilling their contents onto the spot where I had stood.

Slumped against the wall, I looked above to see the fluorescent lights flicker. The power was giving out. In the flashes of darkness, the sounds of the hospital intensified. Every time the sirens waned, the distant shouts and cries for help traveled through the echoing halls. The unwanted and all too the familiar feeling of anxiety began to stir. Tightening and constricting my ability to think about anything other than the jolting noises, and the chemical smells, I beat my palms against the cold tiles.

"Come on, girl." Inching away, she gestured for me to follow. "We can't stay here. We gotta get movin."

"Listen," Gritting my teeth, I stood up, being sure to keep myself an arm's length away from this insane bright-eyed girl. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Tell him you did your job. I am through!"

Determined to have her way, she grabbed hold of my hand. Her grip, despite her size, was tight and strong. Digging her nails into my skin, she closed the space between us.

"Nat, can I call you, Nat? You and I both know, that's not an option." Speaking in her animated way, with an overly dramatic flourish of her hands, she continued to jabber on and on, seemingly unfazed by the neverending sirens or occasional moments of pitch black darkness. "Do us both a favor and come with me." Following her hand as she pointed toward the end of the hall, I jerked backward and out of her grasp.

Down at the end, a man hovered, blocking her preferred means of escape. He swayed back and forth mindlessly but never inched forward. In the brief flashes of light, I could see make out his shining bald head, and gaping mouth.

"Not that way," I whispered.

Taking notice of my shaky voice, she glanced over her shoulder.

"Any chance," I inched back away from her, "any chance he's a friend of yours?"

On cue, the man raised his head up toward the two of us. He had a pair of lifeless beady eyes, taking in the unexpected sight. Cocking his head to the side, he finally blinked. Realizing we weren't some figment of his imagination, a toothless grin formed.

Snapping into action, I grabbed hold of my newfound companion, pulling her closer to me.

Wrenching herself away, she expressed her distaste with a whine before complaining. "What are you doing?" Gripping the syringe from her pocket, she exclaimed, "I got this!"

Glancing behind us, my eyes went round as the man launched himself forward. Unwillingly to miss whatever opportunity he desired, his broad, towering body hurdled down the hallway at his prize, a two for one. The absence of light every few seconds only seemed to encourage him, as the space between us closed drastically. And the closer he came, the more clearly I could make out his patients uniform with a pronounced dark splattered stain across the front.

Feeling my bottom lip tremble, I grabbed her again, darting down the hall.

"You don't have this!" I screeched. "Now get me the hell out of here!"

"Oh, so now you wanna go?"

Ignoring her comments, and fighting the cold, tingling chills running from hands to my feet, I dragged her alongside me until she caved and began running on her own volition. The alternating black and white tiled flooring hard felt like a sick, twisted maze in which we would never escape. Rushing past the empty offices, the two of us, darted side by side toward a door to the stairwell taunting us from a neverending distance. I didn't dare look back behind the two of us. I didn't have too. I could hear him, grunting, and groaning. He wanted us and propelled himself forward at such an inhuman rate.

I stifled the scream building in my throat. Every second of missing light caused the pair of us to stumble, unable to depend on our sense of sight to let us reach safety.

Reaching the door first, I threw it open. Facing the hall, I watched the inmate barrel toward us as this stubborn girl blocked the doorway with her tiny frame.

What? Are you insane?" Throwing my arms up in the air, I cowered behind the door, unable to move. Shaking I backed into the corner, bumping into something hard and cold. Jumping I turned to see the fire extinguisher, it's purpose shining more brightly than its red color. Snatching it from the stand, I shoved her out of the way, pulling the pin, and hosing him down with cold, white foam. Running with my idea, my petite companion took the extinguisher from my hands and slammed the end of it into his head. Collapsing instantaneously from the blow, he fell at my feet in a heap.

"Wow, Nat," patting me on the back, her sweet tone conveyed how impressed she was with my behavior, "quick on your feet huh? No wonder you're his favorite."

My feet felt cemented to the floor. They were heavy, and aching from the sheer weight of this experience. I know at some point she led me down the stairs, and out into the open. She couldn't fight her chatterbox nature, speaking the entire way, although I'm not sure what she said to be honest. All of it went in one ear and out the other. As soon as we exited the building, she pulled a phone out of her pocket as I listened to the combination of building alarms and police sirens working together to alert the entire area that Arkham's inmates were escaping from a mass explosion.

"I'm Cassidy, not that you asked."

"What?" Meeting her gaze, I looked down into her gleaming blue eyes. One hand on her hip, the other on her phone, she looked like a woman I'd see on the streets of Gotham every day. She looked harmless, but all evidence leaned to the contrary.

"I'm Cassidy, and that," pointing behind to the SUV marked Gotham police, "is your ride."

I could feel myself giving into numbness. I could no longer process what was happening or how she managed to get a police escort for me considering there was a massive breakout of mentally deranged and dangerous patients.

Opening the back door for me, I complied without any complaints.

"Oh, and do me a favor, Nat. Tell Mr. J I looked after his girl would ya? Never hurts to be in his good graces."


	12. Cliffhangers

Even after I was long off the island, the phrase "J's girl" plagued my mind. That wasn't the first time someone had said it in passing, and not one person had denied it. Numb to the mid-morning drive, I let my temporary chauffeur escort me home. If this had been any other day, I might have tried to snoop. I would have asked questions and poked and prodded this officer until he provided some insight into the Joker and his general involvement. Instead, I went through the motions, pretending as if all this was normal. It was funny actually, unlocking the door to my apartment I thought I could stumble onto anything. There might be the Joker, or Batman, or even a swarm of legitimate police officers searching for evidence in my apartment.

Instead, it was a silence I found more disturbing than all the noise I had just encountered. All the chaos I had been thrown into was preferable to the solace. Grabbing my phone, I scrolled through all the people I could call. Undoubtedly I would receive one from Joel later. Break out at Arkham while I'm on the job, he'll be dying to know about that. I was tempted to call Vic, Anna, or Tom but once again hesitance, the need to lie in every conversation weighed on me. That left only one person I could talk too.

Rummaging in my bag for his phone, I pulled it out, holding it like it was something so fragile it would break. Opening the texts, I hovered over the buttons, not sure what to type. Running my fingers through my hair, I stopped when my fingertips grazed a dry, caked substance. Scurrying over to the bathroom mirror, I stared at the dried foam from the fire extinguisher caught in my brown hair.

Beating my fists against the sink, I screamed, not giving any thought or care for my neighbors. Throwing his phone against the wall, I watched it shatter before my legs buckled. The first few tears didn't feel like enough. Before long they streamed down my face. Unable to control the urge once it started, I curled into a ball. Burying my face into my hands, I sobbed, gasping for air in between my fits of rage and despair.

I woke up with a crick in my neck, and a pair of puffy, red eyes from the sheer amount of crying. Propping myself up against the bathtub, I massaged my neck while staring at the shattered phone pieces strung along the floor.

Hauling myself off the floor, I gathered what was left of it. "Might not have been your best decision, Nat." Harkening back to my new nickname from Cassidy brought both a grin to my face and another lump in my throat. All of these incidents the last few weeks, all of these terrifying encounters had become to normal.

Tossing the bits in the trash, I reached for my actual phone before plopping onto the couch. Resting against the worn cushions, I embraced the darkness. The day, during my nap on the bathroom floor, faded into night. Three missed calls from Joel followed by a slew of text messages asking if I was okay. Other than that, nothing, but that wasn't the case for the news. It was a media storm. All networks updated coverage every few minutes concerning the dozens of escaped inmates at Arkham Asylum. All of them questioned how it could have happened. They had their interviews with experts, police, and even the mayor. Nothing conclusive although one name popped up as a suggestion.

"Why me? Could no one else do your dirty work? Or did you just need to know what the good doctor was planning when he got his hands on you?"

The doctor's method sent a shiver through me. His ideas were anything but humane. They were vile things to do to a human, even someone like the Joker.

As if on cue, a banging against my front door, jolted me off the couch. Treading quietly to the door, I looked through the peephole. Frost leaned against the hallway, dressed in a tailored suit, waiting for me to answer.

"I know you're in there." His deep voice echoed in the narrow space. "Been trying to reach you."

Sighing, I opened the door enough to peak outside. He didn't even glance my way. In fact, his face remained glued to his phone. I didn't attempt to hide my exhaustion, "You rang?" I croaked.

"Not me, the boss." Sliding the phone back in his pocket, he turned toward me. If I didn't know any better I'd say a grin was forming underneath his full beard and mustache. "He wants to see you."

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

I shut my eyes. Banging my head lightly against the frame, I stayed silent, thinking over my options. "What if I said I was unable to attend?"

Pushing himself off the wall, Frost unbuttoned his suit and shoved his hands in his pockets. His eyes gleamed as he looked down on me, amused, to say the least. "How do you expect that will go over? I think the only way out of this is too, I don't know, hose me with a fire extinguisher?"

My eyes flew open at the mention of the incident from this morning. Frowning, I took a step back into my apartment. "If I had the option, maybe."

I didn't rush in getting ready for another meeting with the Joker. In fact, I took my sweet time, hoping to annoy Frost in the process. Although from the way he remained determined to linger outside the apartment and play on his phone, he didn't seem to mind. I had forgotten waiting on someone hand and foot, someone much more temperamental and murderous, consisted of his number one job duty.

He didn't offer any much conversation during the ride. No witticisms or insight into why the Joker wanted to see me. I didn't care to pick a fight either although my mind did drift to Cassidy. I wondered how the Joker obtained all these people. He had Frost, Cassidy, not to mention half of the Gotham City police force. How deep did his crime organization run? Nurses and security at Arkham? The amount of information to tell Gordon kept piling up.

Letting my mind wander felt good, it gave me a chance to ignore my building nerves. But the moment we pulled up beside the light show that was outside of Grin and Bare it, I realized how unprepared I felt to see him. Hardly a moment to myself anymore, thrown from place to place, from person to person, I desperately needed a break.

We hardly stepped into the threshold when Frost barked orders. "Boss is finishing up with a meeting. Wait here."

Stalking off and leaving me in a crowd of people, Frost headed determinedly in one direction. Sinching the belt on my jacket tighter, I fought against the cold chill I experienced despite the number of people raising the temperature in the club. Turning in a circle, the sights, sounds, and smells enveloped my senses. Girls in tight dresses hugging their voluptuous curves grinded against men and other women with cackling laughs and slopping drinks.

I ignored the direct orders of Frost and edged away from the overexcited masses. Waving my hand in the air to disperse the thick cigar smoke wafting throughout the club, I followed the line of women inadvertently walking one after another toward the bathroom. In itself, it could have been considered more luxurious and glamorous than the anywhere else in this beehive.

A waiting area with a plush creme colored circular sofa set in the center of the room. A small, but delicately designed chandelier hung above, reflecting the amber lighting in its dangling crystals. Rolling my eyes at the extravagance, I wedged myself between the women fighting for spaces at the mirror. The oversized sweater underneath my worn jacket paired with knee-high boots hardly advertised typical club attire, but going against the tide and wearing comfy clothing gave an ounce of confidence. But the dark circles under my eyes and my extremely pale skin did not.

I inched my way out of the crowded space, knowing the coming conversation was inevitable Exiting the bathroom, I fought against the crowd of people until a sudden grip of my hand yanked me backward and against a wall. Jolted but unharmed, I looked up at the two groomed men ogling me. They possessed growing, matching smirks as they swirled their beverages in glasses.

"Where are you headed all dressed up?" Proud of himself for his sarcasm, the more handsome of the two with his high cheekbones, and golden hair let his smirk form into a sparkling smile.

Tugging at the bottom of my jacket, the other man, shorter with wavy dark hair offered his opinion. "I hope all this effort wasn't for us."

"Ha. Ha. I get it." Swatting his thick fingers away, I stepped to the side only to have them follow and gently push my shoulder back against the wall.

Taking a small sip, the ice rattled in his cup. "I'm Jason." The golden-haired one announced candidly, his honeyed voice putting me on edge.

"Jessica." I lied quickly.

"Jessica?" The second man chuckled. "Jason and Jessica that's perfect. Wouldn't ya say?"

"Listen, I'm meeting someone I really need to be going." Attempting to push between the two, they countered. Throwing me backward even more roughly than the last time, they continued speaking.

"I do agree. Maybe once we get a drink in her she will be more apt to see it too."

The shorter one although still taller than me, Jason's right-hand man, or so it seemed, shoved his drink in my face. The potency of the alcohol brought tears to my eyes as did the rising tension of the situation.

Moving my head away from the glass, he followed my movements, trying to force the liquid into my mouth.

"Come on, girl. Just one sip. It won't kill you. Let's have a good time."

Letting an exasperated sigh escape my mouth, I thought about how this might have been the easiest part of my day thus far. Hell, maybe it was the easiest part of the week. Fighting off two men compared to running out of an exploding building or escaping the Joker, felt relatively easy.

"I don't want it."

"No?" Jason questioned. Edging closer, his whiskey-soaked breath pummeled over me. "You want something else first?"

Throwing my knee into his crotch, I whispered a thanks of praise that he seemed stupid enough to get that close. His companion anticipated my moves much more quickly. Tripping me as I hustled past, I fell forward banging my head against the unforgiving hard floor. The pain while fleeting was still enough for me to vocalize it with a cry.

Flipping over, I watched the dark-haired one approach. "That wasn't very nice. Maybe you do need this drink." Spilling the contents over me, the cold alcohol dribbled over my face and shirt. The stubborn firm lines across his forehead told me he wasn't finished. They weren't done. Scrambling to my feet, I darted, shoving men and women out of my way. Dashing up the set of stairs, I hurried into the small space. Leaping across the table, I threw myself into him. Hugging his body tightly, I straddled the Joker for dear life. Pulling away an inch, my lip trembled staring into his smiling face. His drooping eyelids and beaming white face expressed his delighted nature in this unexpected interaction. He instinctively wrapped his hands around my waist, embracing the lack of space between the two of us.

"Mhmm." Running his tongue along his lips, he parted his red mouth. "Nat-a-lie," brushing the hair out of my face, the Joker took in my somewhat stoic expression. Glancing toward the dance floor, I scanned the crowd for the two men, but the Joker pulled my face back to meet his own. My shaking paired with my unblinking stare into his shining blue eyes brought a knowing look to his face. Lying his head lazily toward Frost's general direction, he issued an order wordlessly before rising with me in his arms off his sofa. Turning in a circle, he dropped me so I sat with my boots resting on the cushion, and my back leaned against the glass paneling that lined the booth.

I breathed in and out deeply, shutting my eyes, as to try and steady the pace of my heart. Dropping my head, I covered my ears, attempting to block out the noises. I had leaped into his arms for safety. Clenching my teeth, the realization of what I had just done took the breath out of me. Scared, helpless, and tired I ran for help, I ran to him. In the process, I had given him something I didn't want to give, satisfaction.

Despite my efforts, the booming base filtered in. With each beat, incidents of the day filtered in. A building quaking from an explosion I helped assuredly detonate, BOOM. Running for my life through the sanitized halls of Arkham, BOOM. Two men attempting to manhandle me, if not worse, BOOM. Now, this.

"Boss."

Hearing Frost's voice declare himself, I raised my head. He wasn't alone. Standing behind him, the two men cowered, wide-eyed, and fidgeting.

"Mr. J, we didn't know." Jason, the tall one, hurriedly apologized first.

"Yeah, if we would have known she was yours, we would have never." The other one piped in with his tone matching their palpable fear.

My focus crossed over to the Joker. Facing the dance floor, he turned with a sway. After throwing his arms in the air with a flourish, he used his hand to cover his mouth. The maniacal tattooed smile intensified the cold, lifeless stare he portrayed so easily with those blue eyes.

Closing the space between them, the Joker hovered closely before releasing a cackling laugh and smacking their faces with his pale hands.

Stuttering over themselves, the two once again professed their apologizes but the Joker wouldn't have any of it.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." While he never lost his smile, his voice deepened each time he said the word. Snatching one of the guns tucked into his holster, he rubbed the tip against his temple. His green hair tumbled out of place. Each time he spoke, each time he moved, every minute detail unraveled him a bit more. His dangerous, unhinged nature unfolded before everyone, with Frost being the only person unafraid and unsurprised.

Pointing the gun at his heart, he continued speaking, his enigmatic presence drew me in. "I'm not the one in charge here. No, no, no." Traipsing over to me, he shoved my knees apart, settling into his normal seat, he laid his head to rest against my thigh, daring me with a look I hadn't seen before, one I couldn't place. Tracing lines with his gun up and down against my leg, the gentle sensation tingled and allowed the pace of heart to quicken to a speed that was unbearable and almost painful. But of course, he wasn't done. Sliding down and out of his seat, he turned, crouching before me. Breathing heavily, he released a growl, one every bit the mixture of sexual, dangerous, and terrifying mess he wanted it to be.

"It's ladies choice tonight fellas."


	13. Wordplay

"Wh-What?" Stammering out the word, I gawked down at him. In his own telling way, the Joker radiated excitement watching my face contort into from confusion, rage, and then to despair. His tongue moved leisurely over the edge of his capped teeth.

Rather than answer directly, the Joker dragged me off the booth. He ushered me around the table to stand in the dead center of the intimate space. He curled his fingers around my waist, never missing an opportunity in causing me the desire to squirm and stake his claim.

Pushing my hair aside, he leaned closer. His fingertips brushing my bare skin, and warm breath hitting my neck stirred the butterflies already beginning to flutter in my stomach. With short, concise words, he said, "They are yours."

Pivoting slowly to meet his icy, glazed expression and parted candy red lips, the horror of the situation dawned on me. He was giving me a choice, kill them or set them free. There was no way around it, and yet I couldn't do either. Neither one of them deserved to die, but the idea of them leaving to harass another woman made me sick. Opening my mouth to say something, I quickly closed it again, unable to think of what to say. Standing here before him, I felt naked. No, not just naked, completely and utterly bare. He knew full well this was an impossible position, one he manufactured. My cheeked reddened. The heat from embarrassment and frustration spread from my face to my palms.

Dropping my gaze to his tattooed chest, I stared at that horrendous tattoo of a jester. Covering it with my hand, I found myself thumbing at one of the many unbuttoned buttons on his shirt. "Well, this is," I tried to speak, but I choked on the words, "an unexpected surprise."

Pressing the tip of the gun against my cheek, the Joker pushed my face toward the two men. Apparently, time in this instance was not a luxury the Joker was willing to give me. So, I gaped, wide-eyed at two men. They shifted from one foot to the other, eyes darting on every surface of the room, at their feet, and at each other. Not once did they look at me. They didn't dare. Not when I held all the power, even if it was just by proxy.

"What's wrong?" Gliding the hard metal up my cheekbone and across my hairline, the Joker lightened his tone, feigning concern. "You don't like your gift?"

"Really, you're too generous." Uttering my thanks in a monotonous tone, I didn't mask my lack of sincerity, "If only you had wrapped them."

"HA. HA. HA." Producing that characteristic ear to ear grin with those silver caps glistening against the club lights, he brought his hand from my hip to my neck. Applying just enough pressure to remind me of his dominance, he issued the command. "Open your gifts for me." Holding the gun up in front of my face, he let it drop. His pale finger looped through the trigger guard kept it from falling, but it dangled before my eyes. Seeing that I wasn't going to take it, the Joker grabbed my hand. He turned my palm upward before smacking the gun into it firmly.

I had never held a gun before, not that I would likely ever hold one as customized and sleek as this again. The barrel, sizeable and squared, possessed a golden hue. In fact, considering the weight, I wondered if any part of it, even strips of the grip, and trigger were real gold.

Putting off what felt like the inevitable, I played his game, using his words. "What if I'd like to save my gifts for later?"

Glancing toward the dance floor, the Joker's attention wandered. I had given him a boring answer. I could tell by his wordless reply that he was losing interest just like he was losing his smile. The upward curves of his mouth sliding to a frown.

Inching closer, I dared to press my body against his own. He didn't push me away, but his distant look remained. He had disappeared deep into the recesses of his broken mind. Shoving the gun into his holster, I reached up, pushing back the green flyaways that so easily fell around his face. "Besides I don't think they will spoil." Swallowing hard, I said, "especially since I know where to keep them."

Snapping back to me, he tilted his head to the side. I'd temporarily regained his interest, but he still said nothing. I needed to work quickly. Fixing the few strays on the other side of his face, I tucked them back into place, surprised by the thickness and softness of his hair. Sliding down his neck and over his broad shoulders, I offered the only solution that came to mind. "Arkham does need a few more inmates with so many out on the streets. I think the good Dr. Jeremiah Crane might find his new methods useful, especially with unwilling subjects."

Bending down slightly, the Joker wrapped his hands around my thighs and lifted me up off the floor. My legs found their way around his waist while my hands interlaced behind his neck. Howling with laughter, his whole body shook as he carried me back to my seat. He dropped me hard in the same spot he had pulled me from minutes ago.

"You heard the lady," wedging himself back in between my legs, the Joker staked a claim on my body. Placing his hand on one of my knees, he drew circles with his fingertips. I felt like an object, a fucking throne for him to sit on. "You belong to Arkham now." With the King of Gotham's final decree, Frost yanked on the collar of the two men. Although the two had been quiet, pale, and shaken while the Joker spoke, they found their voices now. They begged for a change of heart, but it wasn't directed at Joker. Their screeches for mercy were meant for me.

I'd be lying if I said my stomach didn't drop, and I didn't possess the immediate urge to vomit. Plying myself with lies, I tried to justify my choice. I made the right decision. Those men would live another day because of me. As soon as I was able, I could tell Gordon. Gotham City Police would remove them, and the two of them would continue with their sleazy lives. But a small part of me wondered, didn't they deserve this? If I hadn't gotten away fifteen minutes ago, who knew what they would have done to me? Shuddering at such I terrible thought I was reminded that I wasn't too move. With a not so gentle squeeze of his ghostly palm, the Joker made it clear that my movements were limited. This is where he was sitting, and I wasn't going anywhere. For now, my sole purpose, my job meant keeping him comfortable.

Since that didn't leave much to do, I watched him, committed to memory anything that might one day be useful. He never spoke, hardly moved an inch. Sometimes I craned my neck as far as I could without notice, focusing all my attention on his mouth, his throat, anywhere that indicated he still breathed. Once that was done, I scanned the crowds, searching for whatever piqued his interest. The atmosphere hadn't changed any. Crowded as ever, the club breathed life. The bass of certain songs so strong I swear I felt the vibration at my fingertips. Others times, the clinking of glasses, and popping of champagne bottles paired with gabbing women became more noticeable than every headaching noise. So what did he see? What did he know that everyone else didn't?

It went on like this for an hour, maybe more. Mentally drained from the effort of attempting to understand him, I waited. My back ached from remaining perched at such an angle, but I didn't dare move. I did daydream about it after awhile. Bored of this unchanging atmosphere, and exhausted from the threats on my life from the day, I thought about my tiny apartment and a warm bed. The moment I got home, I vowed to crawl under the blankets and never come out.

Frost was the first to speak of the three of us. I honestly didn't even know he returned. Interrupting my train of thought, he announced, "Car is ready for you."

Perking up at the thought, my hopes were dashed as the Joker rose from his seat. As soon as he stood, I pulled my knees tightly together. I ached for him to just go, but that wasn't his style. Turning around, I watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing steady, but also heavy, labored. His hands shot forward, pulling my head toward him. His lips grazed my forehead so lightly it tickled. Letting go, he swiveled around, snatching the keys that Frost held out willingly.

I touched the place he planted his lips, expecting it to leave a mark I could feel, but of course, it didn't. Still, the stirring in my stomach told me differently. He had marked me in some way, I was sure of it. Taking another sweeping glance at the dance floor confirmed that suspicion. No matter how many people entered the club, no one dared look the Joker's way while he sat in his little throne room. Now, pairs of eyes stared at me curiously.

Feeling the heat rise in my face again, I looked away from the few dead-eying me to Frost. "He doesn't want me to go with him?"

"Would you like too?"

Frost already knew the answer, I wore it on my face. Laughing to himself, he nodded toward the exit, allowing me the chance to stretch my legs before leading the way. Evidently, this evening I had done well enough to be escorted home, or I hoped that to be the case.

I wasted no time in scooting out of the building. Frost opened the back door of the car for me, and I climbed in without a fuss. I welcomed the moment in all actuality. The moment we drew away from Grin and Bear it I felt more at ease. No longer did I hear music so loud my eardrums rattled. The Joker's hands weren't roaming my body.

"Cass was right about you. You are quick on your feet, aren't ya?"

Sighing, I rested my head against the window. The chilled glass felt good against my skin. It seemed everyone shared bits of information within his little crime cohort. "I'm here to impress."

"Hmm. Is that what that was back there? Were you trying to impress the boss by jumping into his arms, and fixing his hair?"

Ignoring Frost's flagrant efforts to rile me, I kept my mouth shut, and my eyes on the emptying streets of Gotham at night. It was calm, and the ride despite the company was smooth.

"You shouldn't try to be smarter than him." He stated it matter of factly, and I couldn't detect any threatening tone. When I didn't respond he raised an eyebrow at me in the rearview mirror. A smirk appeared as well. I was beginning to think that was a permanent attachment to his furry face.

I rolled my eyes before answering, "I don't think I'm smarter than him."

Snorting at me, he kept his attention on the road, but I couldn't. Perhaps it was the fact I'd been bossed around all day. I'd been forced into situations I couldn't control, and even told when to move and speak. "How does it benefit me to listen to someone whose job is to be at the Joker's beck and call?"

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"No, I..." Biting my tongue, I stopped myself from saying things I'd regret. I fiddled with the clip on my seatbelt like a small child unable to sit still while mentally kicking myself for asking such a dumb question. "What I mean to say is, how does it benefit me to listen to you?"

"It doesn't really." Peering over his shoulder, he added, "unless you want to live a little bit longer."

Silence ensued after our brief conversation. Thankfully the ride didn't last much longer. Oddly enough, but not surprising Frost dropped me right outside my apartment building. Throwing the car door open, Frost stopped me quickly. Gripping my arm, he pulled me back to my seat.

"Answer your phone next time."

"I lost it."

Chuckling Frost let go of my arm. He reached into his coat pocket to pull out his phone. "I'm sure you did." Breezing through the method of deleting all his previous calls and texts, he held it out for me to take.

"I don't need another phone." I spat.

"It's either this, or I keep showing up at your doorstep. Which do you prefer?"

Snatching it from his hand, I hopped out of the car. He sped away as fast as I darted toward the door. My hand was all but on the handle when someone shouting my name halted my actions. Turning slowly, I breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Gordon. He hovered on the other side of the street in a leather jacket, and dusty dress pants. He approached quickly, his speed picking up with each step. When he reached me, the outdoor lights shined brightly on his drooping, tired eyes, and frowning mouth.

"Natalie, you have five minutes to tell me where the hell you have been the last 24 hours."


End file.
